When I Kissed The Teacher
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: AU. Ruth Evershed has been seconded to MI-5 from GCHQ. Her new boss, however, turns out to be someone from her past. She has no idea how they can possibly work together, or if he even remembers her after so many years. Shouts out to ABBA for inspiring this story and its title and that guest reviewer who shamed me in a review for not making that explicit.
1. Chapter 1

**When I Kissed The Teacher**

 _June 2003_

"Right, and through the pods here—we call them pods, you'll see why—is Section D. That's where you'll be. Harry Pearce is Section Head. His office is straight back there with the windows."

Ruth felt a bit lightheaded. Her tour of Thames House with a shockingly chipper administrative assistant had ended here, where her secondment would truly begin. It was quite early in the morning still. Ruth had never been much of an early riser. But all the excitement of finally being able to get away from GCHQ had made her giddy and energized when she'd arrived at the imposing white edifice hours earlier to begin her orientation. MI-5, what a thrill! Ten years being cooped up in a cubicle with a set of headphones and a barely-functional computer on which to draft dull as dishwater reports, and she'd finally made her way to London, to put her skills to real, proper use. And she couldn't wait to get started.

She went through the pods, quickly understanding why the doors to Section D had such an odd name. Around her, the light was harsh and dim, the people were busy and bustling, and the air crackled with tension. Immediately, Ruth loved it here. Her secondment was only for two months, but hopefully she could make a good impression on this Harry Pearce and he'd want to keep her on. Ruth had already put an offer in on a little house, so returning to Cheltenham was not a feasible option.

Right, first stop to see the Section Head. She'd read all about him, of course. He was an absolute legend with Five and Six, known for having a ruthless but steady manner and a bit of a reputation with women in his days as a field officer. He'd been Section Head for nearly ten years. He was, as far as Ruth had found, well-respected. She could hope for nothing more from a new boss. God, she hoped he'd like her.

Trying to steady her shaking hands, Ruth marched herself back to the windowed, red-walled office across the way. The man himself was sitting at the desk, head bent over a stack of files. All she could see of him through the window was a head of thinning sandy hair and a bulky frame wrapped in what seemed to be an extremely expensive suit.

With a deep breath to steady herself, Ruth opened the door to the office. "Good morning, sir, Ruth Evershed here, analyst seconded from GCHQ," she announced, pasting a bright smile on her face in a desperate attempt to conceal her nerves.

He looked up with a rather amused smile playing on his very full lips. "Miss Evershed," he greeted quietly. "No need for 'sir.' Call me Harry."

* * *

 _September 1993_

"Good morning, all. Welcome to Theory of Politics. I am your lecturer, James Richardson. I'm afraid you've all drawn the short straw. This is my first course I'm teaching, but I assure you that I am perfectly qualified. And I'm sure you'll all figure your way through things. You've all been admitted to Oxford, after all." The man at the front of the lecture hall began to chuckle heartily at his own pathetic joke.

Ruth sat directly in the center, chewing on the end of her pen and watching this new lecturer with a bemused smile. He was relatively young, as far as professors came, and he had a stocky frame beneath an ill-fitting tweed jacket. But something about the way those full lips pronounced his words was rather attractive. The thought caused Ruth to smile a bit more. Always easier to learn from someone attractive. Certainly more enjoyable. This James Richardson might be new, but she'd endeavor to give him a good chance.

Quickly, however, Ruth was bitterly disappointed. He might have had a general sense of what he was talking about and he might have had a rather commanding presence, but James Richardson was absolutely butchering the nuances of Thomas Aquinas and his Treatise of Law. If Ruth were another sort of person, she might raise her hand and point out his indelicate treatment right then and there. But Ruth were not that sort of person. She would not, however, let this go.

At the end of the hour, Professor Richardson gave the time and place of his office hours, should anyone have any questions, as he had to run directly after the lecture. Ruth narrowed her eyes at this, disliking such tactics. But she had two hours before she could go berate this inept lecturer. Two hours to calm down and come to the inevitable conclusion that such a confrontation was unnecessary and wholly unproductive.

Or, in Ruth's case, two hours to stew on every minute detail mischaracterized in the lecture. Two hours to write page after page of notes so she could keep her arguments organized and have all of her support at her fingertips. Two hours to try to rehearse what she was going to say to the attractive James Richardson so she didn't end up babbling like a loon—or as her stepfather had liked to say, tripping over her tongue while it caught up to her brain. He'd always meant it as an insult, but Ruth quite liked that description.

Trying to steady her shaking hands, Ruth marched herself down the hall of Political Science department to the tiny visiting lecturer's office. The man himself was sitting at the desk, head bent over a pile of books. All she could see of him through the little window in the door was a head of thick sandy curls and a solid frame wrapped in what seemed to be an extremely cheap suit.

With a deep breath to steady herself, Ruth opened the door to the office. "Good morning, sir, Ruth Evershed here, student in your Theory of Politics class," she announced, pasting a bright smile on her face in a desperate attempt to conceal her nerves.

He looked up with a surprised look in his eyes. "Miss Evershed," he greeted quietly. "No need for 'sir.' Call me Harry."

* * *

 _June 2003_

Ruth very nearly fainted dead on the spot. "H-Harry?" she breathed.

"Yes. We're rather informal here. No point wasting valuable time and energy on useless niceties. Now then, Ruth, you're here to be our new intelligence analyst?"

She couldn't quite find her voice. Now that he was speaking to her. Looking at her.

Harry pressed right on. "Right, well, glad to have you. You'll be at that station over there," he said, pointing to the unoccupied desk across the room from his office. "Colin will be by to give you a tutorial on the computer systems and a tour of the registry and forgery suite." He turned away from Ruth and picked up his phone, dialing the extension and speaking into the receiver. "Colin, we've got a new analyst. She's just arrived in my office. Come collect her, would you?" He hung up and returned his attention to her with a polite smile. "Get settled and you can join the team in the meeting room for the briefing in half an hour."

Right then, a tall bespectacled man with a severely receding hairline came to Harry's office. Said his name was Colin. Ruth numbly followed him out.

Harry. _Harry_. Ruth couldn't believe it. She hadn't thought about Harry in…well, she thought about him more frequently than she would like to admit to herself. Had he not recognized her? Had he not remembered her name? It had been a very long time and they'd both changed so much, but she'd know him anywhere. Harry. Her head was really spinning now. Suddenly everything made sense. Where they'd…how she'd…why he'd…oh there was far too much to unpick here and now.

She needed to focus. Colin was talking. She should be paying attention. _Just nod and smile, Evershed_ , she reminded herself.

* * *

 _September 1993_

Ruth frowned with confusion. "Harry?" she asked sharply.

"Yes, it's my middle name, and I quite prefer to use it rather than James. Though perhaps you can call me 'professor' outside this office. The other faculty don't think much of me as it is," he informed her. "Now then, Ruth, was it?" She nodded. "Why don't you have a seat and tell me what I can do for you." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to speak with a soft smile on those full lips she'd been admiring earlier.

Ruth took a seat in the chair opposite his across the desk and pulled her notebook out of her bag. "Well, I had some thoughts during your lecture today and I disagree with your interpretation of Aquinas in quite a few places, and I hoped we could discuss it."

"What is your field of study, Ruth?"

"I'll be graduating in the spring in Classics."

Harry nodded. "Alright, tell me what was wrong with my lecture."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh, I didn't mean you were wrong, merely that I disagree…"

"No, I think you're just being polite. You think I was wrong. Don't beat around the bush, Ruth. Best to get straight to the point," he interrupted bluntly.

And with that, Ruth launched into the intricacies of Saint Thomas Aquinas and medieval Christian politics, pausing only to find the proper citations in her notes.

On and on she went, often speaking far too quickly and interrupting herself and backtracking and skipping ahead in a manner that reminded Harry of a pinball machine. He sat and listened to every word she said, all the while watching and smiling gently.


	2. Chapter 2

_September 1993_

Harry knew he was in trouble. Ruth Evershed was perhaps the most brilliant mind he'd ever come across, and maintaining his legend as a brand new Oxford professor would be significantly more difficult than he'd ever imagined. The way Ruth rattled on about anything and everything, her monologue taking about a thousand different turns—all of them somehow relevant and intricate and fascinating—in many ways reminded him of Connie James, who never failed to use her brilliance to make him feel like a complete fool. "Go run about with your gun and catch IRA members and communists. I'll just stay here and do the real work," she liked to tease.

Ruth sat in his tiny little lecturer's office with pages and pages of messily scribbled notes, giving citations and in-depth analysis that nearly made his head spin. It was almost like being back on the Grid with Malcolm giving him technical specifications that he didn't understand. He could follow Ruth's arguments, of course, but the enthusiasm, speed, and brilliance of every word out of her mouth was a tad overwhelming.

She presented quite an odd picture for one so smart. Her skin was pale, evidence that she preferred to sit in the library with a book than go out onto the grounds like so many of the other students liked to do. Her hair was dark and shiny but pulled up on her head rather messily with a black velvet scrunchie—Harry only knew what they were called because Catherine had insisted he buy her about a dozen of them the last time he'd spend the weekend with the children. Ruth's face was devoid of any makeup, as far as he could tell, except for black liner all around her eyes and a pale brown lipstick. Not too different from many of the other girls in his class. She wore a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and untucked from her short black skirt. Her legs were covered with thick black stockings of some kind, and on her feet she wore heavy combat-style boots. They had a platform sole which made Harry realize she was probably much shorter than she appeared. Harry had heard this was called 'grunge' though there was nothing too disheveled or dirty about Ruth's appearance. But she did look like she should be espousing the gospel of Kurt Cobain, rather than the basis of the Magna Carta.

But still, he listened. He tried to absorb everything she said. He tried to incorporate as much of her perspective as he could into his lectures. He tried to focus on her words and not the lovely way she said them or the curve of her thigh as she crossed and uncrossed her legs or the softness of her hair that was just far enough away from his desk that he couldn't just reach out and brush it away from her face so he could better see the piercing, startling blue of her eyes.

* * *

 _June 2003_

Just as it had always been, Harry had difficulty keeping away from Ruth. He knew he must, however. He had yet to decide how best to handle the situation, seeing her on the Grid every day and working with her and not being anything more than her boss and not treating her as anything more than a new analyst. She was just so bloody _good_. She was enthusiastic and quick and utterly brilliant. All the things she'd always been.

They quickly developed a good working relationship. He endeavored to never let it slip that there was any history between them. And Ruth, to her credit, had the good sense not to bring it up. In that first briefing, she'd dropped all those files in a way that reminded him of when she'd enter his office and spill the contents of her bookbag in her haste to retrieve her notebook. But after his stupid joke that made her laugh, he'd gotten better about schooling himself around her, never letting on that he wanted nothing more than to sit alone with her in his office and listen to her talk for hours at a time.

The ten years had been much better to Ruth than they had been to Harry. He'd gained weight and lost hair, though he'd traded his nondescript field agent clothing for Saville Row three-piece tailored suits. Gone was Ruth's grunge look from her student days, but she had somehow transformed into the picture of an insane housewife, wearing bright colors that didn't match, ill-fitting skirts and jackets that gave her lovely figure a frumpy quality, cheap and chunky jewelry that made Harry question whether she had any taste at all, and, perhaps most distressing to Harry, gaudy makeup that nearly made him want to scream. More than once she'd worn a bright red blazer—which was actually rather stunning against her skin and highlighted her slim waist—but paired it with a berry-colored lipstick that clashed so horribly, Harry had been distracted for the whole day.

Despite her questionable wardrobe choices, Harry was glad to see her. Every day, something would make her smile, and Harry was hard-pressed to find proper excuses to stay away. It was imperative he kept his distance, as much as he didn't want to. She was still new. She still needed to prove herself. He couldn't allow himself to interfere.

And so he stayed in his office, watching her as much as he could convince himself was acceptable. He remained on the other side of his desk or even on the other side of the office when she presented her findings. He stayed firmly behind her chair when he looked over her shoulder at her computer screen. That was perhaps a bit too close, but he convinced himself it wasn't any closer than he'd get to Zoe or Sam. Though his heartrate didn't increase when he got close to Zoe or Sam. He didn't temporarily lose his train of thought when he smelled the scent lingering in Zoe or Sam's hair. No, that distinct honor belonged to Ruth alone.

Her hair always smelled so lovely, though she was obviously using a different shampoo now. He liked that her soft, dark hair was worn down more often. She still sometimes pulled it away from her face, low on her neck instead of piled on top of her head. Harry had to admit, though, that he did strangely miss the scrunchies.

* * *

 _September 1993_

For the past two weeks, Ruth had come to his office hours to kindly berate him on all the problems she had with his lectures. If she hadn't already, she would soon probably determine that Harry had no business teaching a course. He wasn't wholly ignorant on the subject, having taken this precise class twenty years earlier when he was at Oxford himself, but he was by no means qualified or prepared to go toe to toe with a mind like Ruth's. Best to keep her off balance and distract from his inadequacies.

"Ruth, why are you taking my class?" he asked, interrupting her tirade about his butchering of Machiavelli that morning.

"It's required," she replied simply, clearly taken aback by his sudden disruption. Until this point, they'd only ever exchanged pleasantries before she would launch into her thoughts on the subjects of his lectures where he would only nod in response.

"How is Theory of Politics required for a Classics degree?"

"I'm required to have basic political science background for the jobs I'm applying to," she told him, averting her eyes to her hands fidgeting in her lap.

"And what jobs would those be?"

"Intelligence," Ruth admitted, blushing rather prettily, as though the very idea that she would go into intelligence work was something to be embarrassed by.

This took Harry off guard. He'd imagined she'd want to be a researcher or go into teaching for herself. But she wanted to work in intelligence. How very interesting. "You want to be a spy?"

Her blush deepened. "I don't know. I'd probably be no good. But it would be terribly exciting and interesting to do work that really mattered like that."

Harry could do nothing but nod and shrug and ask her to continue about Machiavelli. The present topic wasn't one he could comment on, as much as he may have wanted to. But he desperately wanted Ruth to keep talking, to feel comfortable to continue to come into his office like this and tell him everything he was doing wrong in his lectures. Harry found her endlessly fascinating and supremely attractive. He did need to keep her distracted from uncovering his legend, so perhaps he could flirt a bit, maybe get her into bed and have a bit of fun on this operation. After all, Clive had stationed him at the school somewhat indefinitely. May as well enjoy himself. And oh how his mind filled with ideas of enjoying himself with Ruth. She was a bit young, perhaps. He was at least fifteen years her senior. But she was in her twenties and, for the moment, he was in his thirties. For operational purposes, he'd slept with women younger than Ruth.

But a very small, annoying voice in the back of Harry's head cautioned him. Ruth Evershed was not his usual type. Ruth Evershed was not the type of woman to blindly go along with Harry bedding her and then ignoring her. For all she knew, he was her professor. Ruth Evershed was not the type of woman to date her professor, he was quite sure. But more than that, Harry had the quietest inkling that Ruth Evershed might perhaps be the type of woman he'd never forget.

* * *

 _July 2003_

Harry had his suspicions. A memory tickled him like a fly that kept landing on his skin, an annoyance he continued to swat away. He was biased. And more than that, he desperately wanted to be wrong.

There had been a mole on the Grid. Someone was giving operational information to Downing Street. The bloody politicians knew more than they should. And Harry was absolutely livid.

He'd discreetly asked Malcolm to track everyone's computers. That way, everything was equal and objective. Harry didn't have to worry about making false accusations or putting his trust where it didn't belong. This really wasn't the sort of thing he should have been handling himself, but he couldn't let it go. He needed to know.

"Harry, I've got the results. Only one terminal has activity for what we're looking for," Malcolm said, somewhat nervously.

With a nod, Harry beckoned for his officer to continue.

"It's Ruth."

 _You want to be a spy?_

 _I don't know. I'd probably be no good. But it would be terribly exciting and interesting to do work that really mattered like that_.

Oh, Ruth. Dear naïve Ruth. He'd prayed it wasn't her. He'd begged the universe to make someone else a traitor in his midst. Anyone but her.

"Do you want me to revoke her access, Harry?" Malcolm asked. "I assume you'll be sending her back to GCHQ?"

Harry remained silent for a moment, trying to stay rational about all this. This was inexcusable behavior. But she was a brilliant, incredible analyst. And he didn't want to let her go. Not again.

That thought startled him. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't handle this in his state.

Harry sighed finally. "No, not yet. Send Tom in here, would you? I'll ask him to have a talk with her. If anyone can turn her, it's him."

Malcolm nodded and left Harry's office. Harry scrubbed his face with his hands. This was getting far too complicated. Keeping his personal thoughts about her to himself and ignoring their past was eating him up. Somehow, he'd need to broach the subject with her. Soon. Not yet, but soon. First, he needed to ensure that Tom could get Ruth on the right side of things. Nothing mattered if she couldn't be trusted.


	3. Chapter 3

_July 2003_

The wild look in his eyes, the way his murmuring voice cracked, the shake of his wringing hands. Harry Pearce was going to die, and he knew it. And now Ruth knew it, too.

She tamped down every single visceral emotion that she felt and ran to get Tom. Tom would know what to do. Tom would save them. In any other situation, it was Harry who Ruth would have put her faith in. But Harry was dying.

Tom locked Harry in his office. Quarantine. He'd been contaminated. They couldn't risk exposure to the rest of the Grid. What had started as a gruesome yet strangely fun EERIE exercise had all gone horribly wrong. Ruth couldn't have believed the coincidence if it weren't for what she'd just see in Harry's office. He couldn't fake fear like that. He wouldn't do that to her. Not after…everything.

Ruth did her best to focus, to support Tom and figure out how best to get everyone through this ordeal. Malcolm and Colin were tearing up the floors and ceilings to try to get communications back. Zoe and Sam were both terrified beyond belief. Danny was snapping angrily at everyone. Tom was inches away from completely losing it. And Harry might already be dead.

It was all she could do to keep from collapsing in a heap on the floor outside his office, banging on the door, begging Tom for the keys. There was so much she hadn't said to him. So much about their past that they hadn't had the chance to understand. Ruth hadn't figured out yet how to get Harry to remember her. Because even if she meant nothing to him, he had meant everything to her. All she wanted was to fall into his arms one last time, to hear his voice speak her name in that way that had made her knees go week, to kiss him one last time.

* * *

 _October 1993_

They'd reached John Locke in Theory of Politics. Ruth had gotten rather good at reviewing the syllabus and asking Harry about his lectures before he gave them, in hopes that she could get through one of his classes without complaint. Harry was pleased to have her come to his office for any reason, particularly if they could have a discussion instead of her now-infamous monologues about his failings.

Today, they'd had a rather lively debate about the relative merits of Hobbes versus Locke, the subject of the following day's class. Harry had taken to defending the cruel pessimism of Thomas Hobbes to Ruth's passionate promotion of Locke's rational optimism.

"You know what Hobbes said, Ruth, which I think was spoken just for you?"

"And what would that be?"

"Curiosity is the lust of the mind."

She was slightly taken aback. "Why would you think that describes me?"

He chuckled. "A person doesn't know as much as you do without an insatiable appetite for understanding. Your brilliance, I'd bet, is born from your curiosity about anything and everything."

"I don't think I'm what Hobbes had in mind, though."

"Why not?"

"Hobbes believed that everyone, deep down, was in competition, and society functions and flourishes by the base desire to win. And I simply can't live like that."

"You certainly seem to be in competition with me. Your knowledge against mine for the betterment of my lectures," he noted.

"Locke said that what worries you masters you, so in an attempt to not worry about the quality of your lectures, I am trying to master the subject matter for the whole class's benefit," she fired back.

Harry laughed heartily. "I don't think that's precisely what Locke intended."

"Maybe not, but neither Locke nor Hobbes would have imagined a woman arguing philosophy at Oxford, so I'll gladly take their teachings for whatever purpose I want. Retribution of sorts," she replied with a little laugh of her own.

"Ruth, may I buy you a drink sometime?"

Her laughter immediately caught in her throat. "Oh…I don't…I…"

Harry knew it was about a fifty-fifty chance she'd accept. Over the month or so that he'd known her, he'd found her to be extremely vocal about her thoughts and opinions, unafraid to challenge him on anything academic or intellectual. The personal, however, she'd been very reticent to share. He had tried to ask her about herself, but she'd been undeterred from the subject of his class. And as time had gone on, Harry was starting to become annoyed. He was here undercover, for Christ's sake! He wasn't meant to be spending so much bloody time with a student in his stupid class. If he was going to be wasting his time on an operation, he'd rather it be with a lovely young woman in a social setting. And so he thought he'd give it a try.

Ruth finally found her voice. "No, Harry, I don't think that would be a good idea. You are my professor."

"I think it's clear that you teach me more than I teach you, Ruth, but I understand the difference in our positions. I apologize if it was inappropriate to ask," he responded politely. And really, that was all he could expect. Part of him hoped that this encounter would dissuade her from taking up so much of his time, as he did have better things he should be doing. But the deeper part of him was very disappointed and worried that their time together would now end. For all the distraction she caused, Harry had grown to enjoy her company.

With stuttered excuses coming out of her mouth, Ruth gathered her notebooks—dropping two of them on her way out and scrambling to shove them into her bookbag—and hurried out of the office.

* * *

 _July 2003_

"Bastard!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. Ruth had always had a brilliant temper for injustice. And his extremely convincing of a fearful and dying man had been rather cruel. It would have been less cruel, he knew, if it weren't Ruth who had found him. But just as with everything else over the last month since she'd arrived on the Grid, Harry had to push aside all feelings for Ruth and their history in order to keep control and operational integrity.

Still, the look of concern in her eyes when she thought he was going to die haunted his conscience. It was time to bring the past forward, time to find a way to subtly let her know that he did remember her—as though he could ever forget—and figure out, together, how to move forward.

The idea came to him when they arrived at The George. Harry had insisted on a liquid lunch for them all, and he was buying. It was the least he could do, after all.

Ruth was sitting with Zoe and Sam. Danny and Harry went up to the bar to order. Tom was brooding by himself. Malcolm and Colin were having a technical discussion by themselves that no one else wanted any part in.

"Danny, this one's for Ruth. It's her drink," Harry said, pressing a pint glass into his hand to deliver to her. He got a top-shelf scotch for himself and a G&T for Malcolm. Everyone else would have beers.

Harry went to sit down at the table close enough to Ruth to be in her eyeline but not so close as to raise suspicion. He handed off Malcolm's drink and took a seat, waiting.

"Here, Ruth, for you," Danny said, handing her the glass.

She frowned slightly in confusion. Ruth took a sniff of the amber liquid and laughed. "Oh my goodness, I haven't had cider in years!"

"Really? Harry said it was your drink."

Her eyes locked on to his. Harry gave a small nod and tipped his glass to her. She gave the smallest hint of a smile. She got the message.

* * *

 _October 1993_

Ruth already had plans to meet some of her friends at the pub that night. She nearly didn't go, she was so flustered by Harry's behavior. Professor Richardson. She knew she was getting far too familiar because she couldn't quite remember that he was, in fact, her professor. Totally off limits. Right? After all, she was a student. Nearly graduated, but still a student. Well above the age of consent, but still a student. A woman dangerously attracted to a man, but still a student. A student who had just been asked out by her professor. And that was unacceptable.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Liza asked, putting another drink in front of Ruth. "You're very quiet tonight."

"A man asked me out today," Ruth admitted.

"What's wrong with him?" Cheryl asked, leaning in to insert herself into the conversation.

Ruth didn't want to admit that it was her professor. Because regardless of the facts, he didn't feel like her professor. Yes, she attended his lectures twice a week and took notes, but he wasn't really teaching her much. More like the other way around, as he had pointed out. And in his office, he always treated her with patience and respect, unlike most of the other professors she'd had who had just brushed off her enthusiasm as that of a foolish girl. Harry was never like that. Harry was kind and gentle. He teased her, but it was the affectionate sort, not the cruel sort. And he was so good-looking.

"Well?" Liza prompted again.

"He's much older than me. More than fifteen years, I think," Ruth replied finally. That was at least the truth.

Liza started to laugh. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Isn't it a bit…inappropriate?" Ruth asked, using Harry's own word.

It was Cheryl who shrugged. "I dunno, Ruth. If you like him and you're not bothered by it, I don't see why anyone else should mind."

"I do really like him," she confessed.

"So what's the problem?" Cheryl was smiling quite knowingly. Ruth found it very annoying that her friend should know her so well.

Ruth took a long drink, letting the sweet alcohol numb her worries. She chewed on her lip. "There isn't really a problem, is there?"

Liza patted Ruth's hand. "No, so go ring him up and tell him you'll go out with him!"

"I actually haven't got his number."

"When are you going to see him again?"

Ruth frowned. Harry had told her that he often works late, since she took up so much of his time in office hours—which he assured her he enjoyed and appreciated. There was every chance he was still in his office. "Right now," she announced. Ruth downed the rest of her pint, threw a few pounds on the table to help cover her share of the tab, and marched herself out of the pub.

It was only a few blocks back to campus. Which was for the best. Ruth was a bit tipsy and her combat boots weren't the easiest things to walk in. Thankfully, the Political Science department was still unlocked. She made her way hurriedly to Harry's office. The light was on. She could see him inside, reviewing some notes. Ruth opened the door without knocking.

He looked up and greeted her with great surprise. "Ruth? It's very late. What are you doing here?" Harry stood and gestured to her customary chair, but she remained standing. He remained standing as well.

"Harry, why did you ask me to get a drink with you?" she demanded.

"Oh, well, I don't know if we should discuss that."

"No, I really want to know," she insisted.

Harry paused, clearly considering his options. "I asked you out because I very much enjoy spending time with you. But we only talk of academic matters, as makes sense. I asked you out because I had hoped to be able to speak with you about other things and learn more about you outside of this office or the lecture hall. And I asked you out because you're very beautiful, and I would be honored by your company."

Ruth stared at him, trying to figure out how to respond. His words were those of a poet rather that a political science lecturer.

Seemingly uncomfortable with the silence, Harry spoke again. "I do hope I haven't made too much of a fool of myself. I'll understand if you'd rather not have anything more to do with me after this."

But that was the last thing from Ruth's mind. Thanks to several pints coursing through her veins, she leaned over the desk and grabbed the collar of Harry's shirt and kissed him square on the mouth. He stumbled in surprise but almost immediately began to respond, moving his lips against hers. They continued on for a few moments before Harry hummed appreciatively and pulled away slightly.

"You taste like cider," he commented. His voice had gone husky, making Ruth shiver. Harry moved around the desk so he was standing beside her without the furniture to separate them.

Ruth smoothed down her skirt and fixed her gaze on her scuffed boots. "It's my drink, and I've had quite a lot of it tonight, which is why I'm here, I think. Sorry. I…um…do you like cider?" she babbled stupidly, suddenly realizing what she'd done.

"On you, I like it very much," Harry growled.

Before Ruth knew what was happening, his hands had found her hips and pulled her against him, and he recaptured her lips once more.


	4. Chapter 4

_October 1993_

Harry's head was swimming. The heady taste of cider and Ruth was knocking him for a loop. Though he'd imagined what it might be like to kiss her, he'd been sorely unprepared. Her mouth soft and hungry against his. The way she caressed and sucked on his lips made him groan with want. And the very fact that it was her tongue that first traced his was utterly intoxicating.

His hands wandered on their own accord, feeling the shape of her underneath the loose and bulky flannel shirt she wore. She was much smaller than he'd imagined. All smooth curves and sensual flesh. He moved across her back, up and down her tapered waist and the flare of her hips, gently tracing the generous swell of her bum and up to feel the weight of her breasts beneath his hands.

Ruth arched into his touch and tightened her grip on the back of his neck and in his hair. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, and Harry intended to let this go on as long as he could keep himself in control. But when her hips slotted against his and she lifted her leg to wrap around his own, Harry had to pull away.

"I think you should go home, Ruth," he croaked, out of breath and positively hating himself for being a gentleman about this. Well, as much of a gentleman as he could manage, having already snogged her silly and touched every bit of her he could reach through her clothes.

"Go…go home?" she asked, confused.

There was a glazed look in her eyes that Harry was sure was due to alcohol and lust in equal measure. And it was the former that concerned him. He couldn't have her do things she'd regret and become upset at him. It was imperative to this operation that he remain in her good graces, keep her distracted from figuring out the truth of him. "Yes, Ruth," he said gently. "Go home."

"Oh." Ruth took a step back and fixed her gaze on her combat boots. "Right, sorry," she mumbled.

Harry realized she was getting the wrong idea. "Tomorrow, once you sober up, if you'd like to meet me at the café on High Street at ten, I'd like to buy you a coffee."

Her expression brightened. "Oh! Alright," she agreed, her cheeks blushing happily.

"See how you feel in the morning, Ruth. If I see you there, I'll be glad. But if you change your mind in the light of day, I hope we can still debate political theory during office hours."

Ruth leaned in and gave him one last quick kiss. "Thank you," she whispered, before turning on her heel and making her way back home.

* * *

 _July 2003_

When the liquid lunch was starting to break up, Harry sent everyone home. After all, they'd earned a few hours off, and most of them were too drunk to return to work anyway. But he cornered Ruth away from the others. "I'd like a word with you in my office, if you'd accompany me back to the Grid," he requested.

She nodded and headed back to Thames House with him. They walked quickly and silently, not speaking a single word until they were in Harry's office with the blinds drawn and the door shut tight.

Harry turned to face her, standing there in the middle of his office where only a few hours earlier, she'd looked at him with such fear, believing he was about to die. It had always been her sharp intellect mixed with her soft kindness that had drawn Harry to her, and in many ways, nothing had changed. "Hello, Ruth," he said softly, daring to give a gentle smile.

But rather than smile in response and fall into his arms as though no time had passed, Ruth frowned. Her blue eyes were steely with displeasure. "What do you want from me, Harry?"

He changed tactics immediately, schooling his face back into the mask of grumpy boss spook. "I think it's time we had a chat about our shared past."

"Is the part where you confess that you used me as an asset while I was a university student? Am I logged away under a codename somewhere?" she asked icily.

"No," he replied, about to explain.

But Ruth cut him off. "Or perhaps you intended on recruiting me and changed your mind? Or maybe it was none of those things and you only approved my secondment to have me around for a bit of office skirt, is that it?"

"Of course not!"

"It was one thing when I thought you didn't remember me, Harry. I always believed that I didn't mean anything to you, the way you disappeared all those years ago. But to know you remember exactly who I am and now having to work for you like this? That's just cruel. I never thought you to be so unfeeling, but I suppose you're a great spy and I was a bookish, naïve girl dazzled by the bit of attention you paid me, and I was just blinded to who you really are."

He was utterly flabbergasted by her sudden aggressive accusations. "Ruth, I…"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I just can't do this." She hurried past him and out of his office, leaving him standing their numbly, worrying about how they were to carry on from here.

* * *

 _October 1993_

Once again, Harry figured he had about a fifty-fifty chance of Ruth agreeing to meet him. Though she'd said no the first time and then drunkenly kissed the life out of him a few hours later. Now, however, she was probably hungover and cursing him for daring to take advantage of her as he had. It was rather annoying, as Harry had thoroughly enjoyed himself and didn't like feeling guilty for it.

He scowled to himself and roughly turned the page of the newspaper he'd been perusing as he waited in the café. A glance at his watch told him it was now two minutes past ten. He would wait till half past and then leave in efforts to save his dignity.

But not five minutes later, Ruth came blustering in. Her makeup was not as artfully applied as he was used to seeing her, and one of her boots had come untied, causing her to stumble on her way to his table. "Hi," she greeted breathlessly, her smile bright and her blush clearly evident. "Sorry I'm late. I woke up with a bit of a headache."

"I'm not surprised," Harry replied, trying not to be surprised to actually see her here. "Coffee?"

She nodded. "Please."

Harry got up to order, all the while stealing looks at her, sitting and fidgeting at his table. Her hair was a bit out of sorts, too, piled up with that scrunchie she seemed to like. She wore a purple flannel today, which complimented her eyes quite nicely. Harry sighed to himself. She was far too pretty for him to properly keep his wits about him, and with Ruth, he always needed to have a level head.

When he returned with the coffee, Ruth thanked him and took a greedy gulp, succeeding in gasping as she burned her tongue and spilling a bit on the table. Harry handed her a napkin and watched with concern. Once she'd gotten ahold of herself, Ruth took a deep breath and launched into a bit of a soliloquy. "I've been a complete idiot, and I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did. It was so stupid. I'm actually quite embarrassed that I'd even consider doing anything like that. You've been nothing but kind and respectful to me, and in return, I throw myself at you? I just want you to know that I'm not usually like that. Ever. It was really out of character for me. But you asked me out and I just didn't know what to do, and I ran scared, like I always do. And then I was out with my friends and I didn't tell them everything about you but just that an older man asked me out and I quite fancy him and they told me to go for it, so I guess with the cider and everything, I got it into my head to just go tell you right then that I did want to go out with you, except I never actually said that, did I? I just sort of attacked you. Oh god, I cannot believe I did that. And you made me stop, sparing whatever self-respect I could still claim, but of course that just makes me want you more, doesn't it? You're so horribly sweet to me, and I don't really understand why, but you are and I'm just…I don't even know anymore."

Harry waited for her to pause to catch her breath. "My goodness," he stated simply.

Ruth blushed and averted her gaze as she did whenever she was uncomfortable. "Sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, Ruth," he assured her gently. "In case you didn't notice last night, I very much enjoyed your…overtures."

She snorted in laughter at his choice of phrase.

Harry was undeterred. "But you're right, I did want to preserve your dignity, and I didn't want anything to go further unless you were sure about it. In the time we've spent together, Ruth, I've come to care for you, and if you do ever want to bestow your affection upon me, I hope it's a choice you make willingly and without the aid of coercion or intoxication."

Ruth stared at him, studying his expression with great concern. "Harry, are you very new at Oxford?" she asked finally, after several long moments of silence.

"I've been here since just before the start of term."

"So you're in a hotel?"

"No, I'm renting a flat."

"Is it nearby?"

"About a ten-minute walk, why?"

She ignored his question and continued with her own. "Have you got flatmates?"

"No, it's too small for anyone else, I'm afraid. Just me."

"I see."

Harry almost wanted to laugh, but he didn't dare. She was grilling him about his living situation with such seriousness. "Why the sudden concern about where I live?" He didn't dare hope to presume what she was getting at. She needed to say it. He needed her to say it.

Ruth swallowed hard, summoning up her courage. "I was wondering if maybe I could see it."

"My flat?"

"Yes."

"Ruth, are you asking me to take you home with me?"

"Yes."

Harry searched her face now the way she'd searched his before, looking for any sense of hesitation or trepidation on her part. He knew that if he allowed them to take this step, there would be no going back. There would be no way he could stop himself from having all of her, all to himself, as long as he could keep her. It was a dangerous step, he knew, to allow himself to get lost in Ruth Evershed. But he very much wanted to. After just the kisses they'd shared the night before, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind, and he was desperate to get her in his bed.

Without warning, Harry stood up. Ruth watched him, her eyes frightened for what he'd do next. He held out his hand to her. When she took it, he held hers tightly and led her out the door.

* * *

 _July 2003_

Harry couldn't let this go. He knew Ruth, knew she'd hold a grudge if she believed what she'd just said to him, knew they wouldn't be able to work well again if he couldn't explain things to her. It was against every bit of Harry's nature to crawl back to a women who scorned him and beg for her forgiveness. But this was different. This was Ruth. He respected her too much to allow this misunderstanding to fester between them. And more than that, he trusted her with the truth. He had trusted her ten years before but his fear and devotion to duty had won the day. Not again.

He got in his car and drove straight to her little London house. He had her address from a quick review of personnel records, but he was sure he'd know this was her house anywhere. It was small and a bit rundown on the exterior, but it had brightly colored stained glass windows in the door. Yes, very much a place Ruth would call home.

When he rang the doorbell, she answered it within a few seconds. "What do you want, Harry?" she asked, her eyes still flashing with anger and hurt.

"We need to talk."

"I told you, I can't do this now! I need time to wrap my head around all of this and figure it out," she protested, practically begging for him to leave.

"No, we are going to do this now, because there are some things you need to know before you take however much time you need to figure things out. You're an analyst, you should know better than to try and extrapolate a theory from insufficient data," he argued.

Knowing she couldn't refute that point, Ruth let Harry into her house. After he'd taken off his coat and she led him into the living room, Ruth turned to face him. "Alright, what excuses are you going to give me?"

"I have to apologize to you, Ruth."

She scoffed, "I should say so. What for?"

"I was selfish. All those years ago. Believe me when I tell you that I did not use you as an asset. There is no record of you anywhere attached to any operation from when I was in Oxford in the fall of 1993. I also did not approach you in an attempt to recruit you to the Security Services, though perhaps I should have. Actually, I know I should have. You are a brilliant analyst now, and if I hadn't been so bloody selfish back then, you could have become an incredible officer. With your mind, you would have been perfect. But I was too selfish."

Ruth gave him a confused frown. "How so?"

"I wanted you all to myself. I didn't want to share you with the Service. I didn't want to have anything else pull us apart. All I wanted was to spend however much time I had in Oxford holding you in my arms and kissing you and making love to you whenever I could. You were so precious to me, Ruth. From the moment you started berating me about Thomas Aquinas, you drove me to distraction. And I tried to resist, but I couldn't. Because I was selfish."

"I didn't think you remembered me," she said quietly.

"I could never forget you, Ruth."

Tears filled her brilliant blue eyes, and she blinked them away. "Is that…is that why you seconded me from GCHQ?"

"No," he replied sincerely. "When I review applications, I skip to the recommendation statements and see who supports the secondment and why. After that, I look at the operational history of the applicant. I don't look at the name or personal details until I've already decided to hire them. I knew I wanted to hire you right away. But when I saw your name, I knew that my instinct was spot on. I knew you'd be invaluable to the Grid, and I was right." Harry took a bold step toward her, placing his hands on her arms. "Ruth, I never thought I'd see you again, but you took up residence in my heart so long ago, and it's taken all my self-control on the Grid to pretend otherwise. But I can't do it anymore. Seeing the hurt in your eyes today when you thought I was dying nearly killed me then and there."

After Harry bared his heart to her, he paused, waiting for her reaction. Waiting for what she would say, what she would do, how she might feel. Harry waited.


	5. Chapter 5

_October 1993_

Ruth was practically shaking as she followed Harry down the hall to his flat. His large, soft hand held hers tightly. The way his thumb gently stroked hers only increased her anticipation. She'd never done anything like this before. It was terrifying and thrilling and as surprised as she was at this mad fit of bravery, she was extremely proud of herself. She wanted him, and she was going to have him; she hadn't shied away, she hadn't rebuffed his advances but instead chased after Harry and caught him.

And now he was unlocking his front door. They would go inside, and she was going to fall into the arms of her professor, of all people. But right now—and most of the time, actually—he didn't feel like her professor. He was just Harry. And Ruth wanted him.

As soon as they were inside, Ruth launched herself at him. Thankfully, he pulled her into a tight embrace and immediately kissed her deeply. Though they'd barely spoken a word since leaving the café, there was no miscommunication of why she was in his flat and what they were going to do.

Ruth could recall flashes of the night before, kissing him in her drunken haze, but now everything was sharp and electric and powerful. The way he kissed her made her weak at the knees. His mouth moved over her mouth, his tongue caressed her tongue, and he punctuated each kiss with a little nip at her lips. Harry was hungry for her and the steady control he'd exhibited when she kissed him in his office was long gone now. Never in her life had Ruth felt more aroused or more desirable than she did here in Harry's arms.

He moved his attention down her neck, sucking hard at her pulse point and running his tongue along the tendons of her throat. Ruth had no control over the sounds she was making, only the vague awareness that she was gasping and moaning with lustful abandon.

Before she knew it, Harry's fists curled around her flannel shirt and he ripped it open, sending buttons flying everywhere. He pushed the cups of her bra aside and his mouth continued the onslaught against her skin. She tangled her hands in his curly hair and arched into his touch. Ruth was so overwhelmed by his attentions that she would have crumpled to the ground, were it not for one of his strong hands holding her up by her bum, massaging her flesh.

"Yes, Harry," she gasped, feeling the tingling warmth radiate through her whole body and wetness gathering between her legs. She briefly cursed herself for wearing her tights, as such things were not convenient attire for her purposes now.

Harry seemed to have similar thoughts, but he was undeterred. There was a small end table beside the front door where his mail was piled up. He swiped it all on the floor and hiked up Ruth's skirt before lifting her to sit on the table. He paused for a moment, looking at her with a naughty grin. Ruth could only imagine what she looked like, her breasts bared and heaving, her lips swollen from his kisses, her whole body flushed with desire. He came to stand between her open legs, kissing her deeply again. One of his hands moved up her inner thigh and traced her folds through her clothes. He groaned upon feeling how wet she was for him. Without a second thought, he grabbed the material of her tights and ripped it roughly. "I want you, Ruth," he growled against her mouth.

Ruth seemed to have lost the power of speech, so all she could do in response was pull him closer by his belt buckle and rub his straining erection through his trousers. That was all the further encouragement Harry needed. He quickly unbuckled himself and shoved his pants to the floor. Ruth whimpered upon seeing him, thick and strong and proud. Harry guided himself to her entrance, coating his tip in her wetness, their moans of want echoing through the flat. Ruth adjusted her hips and grabbed the shirt he still wore, pulling him closer. He thrust into her swiftly, nearly making her scream, but he held steady. She could feel him fill and stretch her, and her walls fluttered around him. It wouldn't take much for her to finish, and she desperately wanted him pounding inside her when she did. She wrapped her legs around his hips, encouraging him to move.

Harry set a steady pace, not too fast, but deep and hard. Ruth wasn't entirely inexperienced, but she'd never had anything like this. Harry wasn't making love to her tenderly, like the sweet boyfriends she'd been with in the past. And he wasn't just having sex with her like the meaningless flings she'd had on occasion. No, Harry was fucking her, and it was quite possibly the most delicious encounter of her life.

On and on, he thrust into her, alternating between kissing her lips and her neck and her breasts. Every movement built her up higher and higher. Harry must have been able to tell she was close, because he started to speed up. When she came, her entire body spasmed and a visceral cry fell from her lips unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She hardly even noticed when Harry pulled out of her and spilled himself on her thigh with a grunt. He leaned forward in against her body, holding her close to him. Ruth put her arms around him, stroking the sweaty hair on the back of his neck as she struggled to catch her breath.

* * *

 _July 2003_

Ruth listened to every word Harry said, watched the way his lips formed each syllable, saw the sincerity in the subtle way his chin wobbled as he spoke, gazed at the affection in those dark hazel eyes. Here, now, in her house, Harry was who she remembered.

He fell quiet, waiting for her response. She took the opportunity to continue her unabashed inventory of the man before her. He'd gained weight, lost some of the sharp definition in his face. But then, he'd always had soft cheeks and full lips. That hadn't changed. His hair was sparse now, and it was cut very short. Perhaps he believed that it would hide the fact that it was thinning, perhaps the curls she'd once spent hours running her fingers through wouldn't grow so thick now. He was still built powerfully, broad shoulders and chest. Surely the arms beneath his Saville Row suit jacket were still strong, even if his belly had gone soft. She hadn't had much opportunity to really investigate all the changes to his physique, but she would bet his bum was just as well-formed as before.

She wished she could see him. That much she knew. Now that she wasn't embarrassed by her own memories of him, because he remembered her, too. And now that she had allowed her hurt and anger to dissipate a bit, too. He was still Harry. He hadn't been lost in a legend when she'd known him before. The man in front of her was the one she recognized. The one she trusted and loved, though such confessions had thankfully never left safety of her own heart and mind.

And now he was here inside her house. All she wanted was to fall into the arms of her boss, of all people. But right now—unlike all the time they'd spent on the Grid—he didn't feel like her boss. He was just Harry. And Ruth wanted him.

Her hands were shaking as she reached up to place her palms on his chest, feeling his heartrate increase under her touch. Ruth took a single step forward and moved her hands up, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled him down toward her as she got up on her tiptoes press her lips to his.

In an instant, he pulled her tight into his arms. His embrace was all-consuming as it had always been. His lips moved over hers like out of a dream, the memory of which tugged at her brain. Their bodies slotted together as naturally as ever. The habit of their kisses was renewed.

But as familiar as his feel and taste were to her, his kiss was different as well. Softer, less hurried. Maybe that was because Harry had always known his time at Oxford with her had been limited and he'd wanted to make the most of it. Perhaps it was as he'd said, that he was selfish a decade ago, and he'd learned patience and generosity in their years apart. Ruth had certainly changed in the last ten years, so it was unreasonable to expect Harry to stay exactly the same.

This new unrushed kiss of his wasn't what she wanted, however. Ruth's fists curled around his crisp white shirt and she ripped it open, sending buttons flying everywhere. She ran her fingernails down his bare chest, feeling him shiver at her touch. She pulled away from him, her tongue and teeth finding a path down his neck and chest.

But it seemed Harry would not be overtaken. His own hands wandered down her back and grabbed her bum, massaging her flesh; there was more of it there than before, and based on the gentle moan of desire he emitted, Harry was pleased with the change.

There was no end table for Ruth to be lifted up onto now, though whether Harry could have lifted her so easily seemed doubtful. He walked her backward until she was pressed against the wall, trapped by his body. She laughed breathily, enjoying that he was still a bit rough with her. Hoping to repeat history, Ruth reached between them and traced his growing hardness through his trousers.

"Oh god, Ruth," he groaned. He tangled one hand in her hair and pulled her back into a bruising kiss.

Ruth was sufficiently distracted and pulled his face even closer, her hands on his cheeks. This time it was Harry who reached a free hand between them, first up her blouse to lightly trail along her bare stomach and then down the waistband of her skirt and inside her knickers. She was already wet and ready for him, but once again, Harry took his time with her. The rhythm with which he moved his lips and tongue on her mouth matched the rhythm of his fingers rubbing her sex. He drew her bottom lip between his teeth just as he thrust two fingers inside her. She could feel him curl them inside her, finding the place to make her come undone, and her walls fluttered around him. It wouldn't take much for her to finish. She ground her hips against his hand, encouraging him to increase the friction he'd already begun.

Ruth knew the touch of Harry's hands, had filled many fantasies over the last ten years with all the things she knew he could do to her. But just as with his kiss, this was different. It was as though he was learning her all over again, taking time to tease her and build her up, to show through his every touch that he wanted to please her. Perhaps Harry had learned to be selfless over the years.

On and on, he thrust his fingers into her. Even as she struggled to breathe, he wouldn't let her escape his kiss. Ruth could feel the air sucked out of her lungs and all she had were the electric sensations he encouraged as he built her up higher and higher. He didn't speed up as she got close, dragging out every touch to its greatest level. When she came, her entire body spasmed and she screamed his name. Ruth fell limp against his bare chest. Harry removed his hand from inside her skirt and just held her tight, pressing light kisses to her temple as she struggled to catch her breath.

* * *

 _October 1993_

"Come here, I'm not done with you yet," Harry growled. He kicked off his shoes and trousers and lifted her up. Ruth wrapped her legs around his hips and held on tightly as he carried her down the hall and into his bedroom.

He laid her gently on the bed and pulled his jumper over his head, leaving him completely naked. Ruth gazed up at him in awe, this broad-chested, strong Adonis of a man. For a political theory scholar, he was certainly well built.

Ruth realized she was still wearing all her clothes, though most of them were now ripped and wrinkled and stained by their furious coupling in the foyer. Harry likely had the same realization. He lifted one of her legs and began to untie her boot, pulling it off her foot. He did the same with the other. Harry then leaned over her and caught the waistband of her tights and began to pull them down. Ruth adjusted herself so he could peel the opaque black nylon off her legs. They were utterly ruined, but Ruth didn't care a single bit. Next came her skirt and knickers, sliding off her without much trouble. Ruth sat up so her ripped purple flannel could be removed from her arms and her bra unhooked and tossed off to join the rest.

When she was as naked as he, Harry crawled over the bed to join her. His hands journeyed over her body, gazing hungrily at her. "Beautiful," he whispered. "Never would have guessed under all that."

Her brow furrowed at that remark. She quite liked her clothes. But Harry chuckled at her and kissed her pouting lips, and she quickly forgot any annoyance. Christ, he was a good kisser. She could kiss him for hours. She wanted to do nothing but lie in this bed, nestled in his arms, kissing him till she passed out from exhaustion. But as she considered this little fantasy, his mouth left hers, travelling down her body. His lips and teeth and tongue worshiped her flesh, building up her arousal once again. She was rather sure he'd left marks all over her breasts, but it felt so good, she couldn't be bothered. Downward he travelled, her muscles trembling beneath the skin he touched. Eventually, he settled between her legs, spreading her thighs wide, baring her to him.

Harry wasn't the first man to go down on her, but he was certainly the best. The rhythm and pressure and heat and speed of his ministrations was enough to drive her wild. Ruth had never been quite so unhinged as when his tongue thrust inside her and his teeth grazed her folds. She arched against the bed, writhing and panting and practically screaming at the multitude of sensations he created in her. Her climax overpowered her as her extremities went numb and only Harry's name fell from her lips.

He slowed and eventually stilled, easing up from her and escaping the crushing clenching of her thighs. By the time Ruth blinked back to conscious existence, she saw Harry kneeling over her, hard and ready once again. She had never been with a man his age before, but she was rather impressed with his recovery time. Even now, she blushed slightly, thinking that somehow she was the cause of his mighty arousal.

Ruth bent her knees and planted her feet on the mattress to ready herself for him. Her hands, finally regaining feeling and motor skill, reached out for him, clutching hard at his broad shoulders, her nails digging in to his hard muscles.

Harry eased himself into her, not repeating the powerful pounding from earlier. He wasn't necessarily being too gentle with her but rather seemed to be savoring the feel of her body. The feeling of him inside her once again sent tingles all throughout Ruth's body, unlike anything she'd experienced. This was her high. Harry was her new drug. Each thrust of his hips was another hit, building her up and up until waves of pleasure crashed down on her again.

She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on remembering to breathe. When she opened them again once more, Harry was watching her. His eyes hadn't left hers the entire time he'd been on top of her. Something tugged at a place deep in Ruth's chest from the way he looked at her, the way his panting breath and satisfied groans sounded in tandem to every movement of his skilled body.

When his thrusts became quick and erratic, he pulled out of her, spilling across her stomach. Ruth never found such methods to be the most enjoyable for her, but she preferred it to the alternative. And unlike many of her other lovers who'd done this, Harry had immediately pulled her into his arms and held her tight against him. Both their bodies were painted with his seed as he rolled onto his back with Ruth resting on top of him.

"Wow," she breathed.

Harry grinned proudly. "Thank you."

"You've got a really lovely flat, Harry, thanks for showing it to me," she quipped.

He laughed heartily. Ruth thought it was just about the loveliest sound she'd ever heard.

* * *

 _July 2003_

When Ruth eventually regained use of her legs, she took Harry by the hand, still slick from being inside her, and led him down the hall to her bedroom. She didn't say a word as she pushed his shirt from his body and unbuckled his trousers. But before his lower half was revealed to her, Harry pulled her blouse over her head and leaned in to kiss her neck while unhooking her bra. They stumbled together onto the bed where Harry took his time exploring her breasts with his lips. Ruth's head fell back and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feelings he created. Her fingers moved through his short hair, which was thoroughly unsatisfying compared to the thick locks she'd been used to before, but her efforts succeeded in keeping his face firmly against her chest. Surely he was making marks all over her, but Ruth was happy to let him.

Harry stood up at the end of the bed and pulled her skirt off her and peeled her stockings from her legs. His fingers trailed down her thighs and calves seductively and back up to pull her knickers off as well. He gently spread her legs apart, and Ruth watched his eyes grow dark and hungry. "Beautiful," he murmured.

She waited for him to have some sort of other cheeky comment, but none came. And when he leaned over her and buried his face between her legs, she forgot about everything else. His tongue thrust inside her and his teeth grazed her folds. Ruth moaned his name over and over as he built her up to a quivering mess and making her shatter once again. This, she realized, this was the same as before. Nothing else really was, but if she closed her eyes, she was ten years younger and in that boring flat of Harry's at Oxford. When she opened her eyes, however, she saw Harry ten years older. Ten years wiser, ten years darker, ten years kinder. Perhaps it was the power of her orgasm, but Ruth was overwhelmed with her affection for this man she was learning all over again.

Ruth got up, as soon as she was able, and pushed Harry back on her bed. She finally succeeded in removing his trousers and trunks and had him naked before her. His lower half looked just the same, making her smile as the memories of what his cock could do filled her mind. She crawled over him, straddling his hips with her knees on either side of him. Ruth planted one hand on his chest and took his hardness in hand as she slowly sank down on him.

"Oh Jesus, Ruth," he groaned as he was fully sheathed inside her at last.

The feeling of him inside her once again sent tingles all throughout Ruth's body, unlike anything she'd experienced in ten long years. She'd gotten hopelessly addicted to the drug of him, and she'd relapsed. Slowly, she moved up and down on him, letting him slide nearly all the way out of her before sinking down on him again. Her eyes practically rolled back in her head at the sensation. When she looked back at Harry's face, she found him watching her. He gazed upon her so intently, she felt like she should look away. But she didn't. She moved faster, riding him hard. His hips thrust upwards to meet her movements. Ruth felt so good, she could barely breathe. Harry's ragged breath and satisfied groans filled the room. She leaned down and kissed him again, just because she wanted to.

He was holding her hips tight, focusing their coupling and intensifying every moment. Harry pulled away from her kiss. She could feel him tremble beneath her. "Ruth, I'm…" he warned through gritted teeth.

"It's alright, Harry," she assured him. Ruth wasn't sure why she wanted him to come inside her, but it suddenly seemed like the best idea. She wasn't too worried about anything; it had made sense the last few years to stay on the Pill. But more than that, she wanted this moment with Harry, wanted it to last, wanted them to be joined as long as possible. So when he spilled inside her fluttering sex, she collapsed on top of him and held him tight.

"Wow," he breathed in a strained tone.

Ruth grinned proudly and pressed kisses to his sweaty chest. "Thank you."

Harry just held her tight, still trying to catch his breath.

"This is the part where you tell me I've got a lovely house," she teased.

"Honestly, Ruth, I hadn't noticed. But I think you're rather lovely," he replied.

Ruth felt a peculiar blush overtake her and snuggled herself securely in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

_July 2003_

Harry dozed a bit, but he couldn't really allow himself to sleep. He didn't want to wake up and find it was all a dream. For years his subconscious had tortured him with memories of Ruth Evershed, the young woman who had wormed her way into his soul, the incredible love who'd stolen his heart. To think that nearly ten years later, he had her in his arms once again? Surely he couldn't be so fortunate.

"It was all real, wasn't it?" she murmured, eyes still shut but stretching and cuddling closer to him as she awoke.

"I am here in your bed, if that's what you mean," Harry replied, very pleased to be able to say so. He brushed a lock of her dark hair from her pretty face.

Ruth rolled over onto her stomach and looked up at him. She traced the line of his nose and lips and jaw, as though convincing herself he wasn't a mere figment of her imagination. "Well yes, but that's not what I meant. Before. All those years ago. What we shared. You weren't just the legend when you were with me. You…you told me your real name. And you were really yourself."

Harry nodded. "I was. I should have known better. Actually I did know better, but I couldn't help myself."

She just stared at him with a look of awe in her eyes. "It seems too good to be true, but you're so much like I remember you. You're different, of course, it's been quite a long time, but you're still Harry."

He cupped her cheek and gave her a soft kiss. "I never could hide from you, Ruth. I still can't. And I don't ever want to. I can't tell you how glad I am that you're working on the Grid. That you know me and the work. That I don't have to lie to you about what I'm doing anymore."

She recoiled from him slightly. Some realization had dawned on her which made her very unhappy indeed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, when she stayed quiet.

"Every time I think I understand something more about when you were at Oxford, I'm confronted with more things I don't know. You must have lied to me about a lot of things."

"Less than you might expect," he admitted. "I nearly ruined the entire operation because I had so much trouble keeping things from you. At first I pursued you because I could see you were far too clever and I wouldn't be able to hide my true purpose. I hoped to keep you distracted from being suspicious."

"Job well done, I suppose," she replied darkly, moving away from him.

Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. "But I continued on with you because I trusted you. As much as I was allowed. Obviously I wasn't actually a political science lecturer but everything else you know about me, Ruth, that was real. I could be myself when I was with you."

The tension in her body lessened at his words, for which he was glad. But she still didn't answer him.

"I can answer every single question you have about our time together then, if you want. As much as I can tell you given your current clearance level. But I know you trusted me once, and I hope you can find a way to trust me again. You are a brilliant analyst and I intend to keep you on the Grid even if you have no interest in being in my bed after this." Harry loosened his grip on her, allowing her the space to throw him out if she wanted. He very much hoped she didn't.

"I do."

"You do what?"

"I do have interest in being in your bed after this. Though technically I haven't been in your bed since we're at my house right now," she informed him. There was a playful sparkle shining in her eyes that Harry recognized well.

He chuckled happily. "I'm glad. You're welcome at mine whenever you like."

Harry leaned in to kiss her again and she kissed him back, humming happily against his lips. "Can you promise me something, please?" she asked, pulling away from him slightly.

"I can try."

"Can we keep this to ourselves? I mean, I don't want anyone to know we're…together. Or whatever we are. Whatever we were. I don't know if I could bear to have people know that I slept with my professor at Oxford but in fact he was a spook with Five who's now my boss. Or think that I got the job because of our history or that you're keeping me around because of this. I can't bear being talked about, Harry. It's one thing for you, you'll lose credibility and authority, but I'll be vilified. I'm still the new girl and no one really likes me anyway," she lamented.

Harry watched as her anxious words tumbled from her lovely lips. He interjected before she got herself too worked up. "Shh, it's alright, Ruth. I understand. I have no problem being subtle. I don't much enjoy the thought of having to sneak around, but I did always have every intention of remaining professional on the Grid," he assured her.

Ruth snuggled against him. "Thank you, Harry."

* * *

 _October 1993_

Harry couldn't believe his luck. This brilliant, beautiful young woman had invited herself to his flat for the specific purpose of having sex with him. He knew he had a certain skillset, but Ruth couldn't have known that beforehand. And she was so shy and awkward, this couldn't have been a usual occurrence for her. But she'd been so eager and vocal and wanton and _good_. He was rather certain that she'd let him live out nearly all of his sexual fantasies if he tried them on her. What a delicious treat this was turning out to be.

"You're staring at me."

He was startled by the sound of her voice while her eyes were still closed. "Sorry," he chuckled.

Ruth blinked awake and that bright blue bored right into his soul, nearly taking his breath away. She was studying him, and Harry couldn't help but hope he wasn't found wanting. "I'll go, then," she announced, shifting away from him to get out of his bed.

Harry grabbed her arm to stop her. "You don't have to." But he immediately unhanded her. "Unless you want to." The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was now regretting what she'd let him do to her. After all, she was young and probably more interested in pleasing an authority figure than in protecting herself. Oh Christ, what had he done?!

"I…I don't know," she stammered. "Isn't that what I'm meant to do? We had sex, and now I go and I don't bother you anymore?"

Harry's heart nearly shattered in his chest to hear her insecurity so blatantly on display. He reached his hand out to her. "Come here, please," he begged, pulling her naked body back into his arms and kissing her hair. "Ruth, I know my word probably means very little, but I am not the sort of man who preys on female students out of convenience. I would not have asked you out or kissed you or brought you back to my flat if I weren't interested in more than just this. I think you're wonderful, and I want to get to know you. Just as I told you when you asked me last night why I asked you out. Though I don't know if you remember that."

"I do remember," she assured him. But she frowned in confusion. "So…you want to…date me?"

"Yes, Ruth, I'd very much like to spend as much time with you outside of class as I can. Debating political theory. Going to dinner. Sharing a pot of tea."

"Having sex?"

"Mmm, whenever you want," he agreed, kissing her again. "But I do have one request from you."

She gazed at him with worry. "Oh?"

"I don't think it would be good for either of us if our…relationship became public knowledge. So when we're on campus, if we could keep a low profile? And don't tell anyone about us?" Harry hoped she wouldn't think he was ashamed of her. Quite the opposite, actually. Other than the age difference, Ruth was probably the most respectable woman he'd ever been with. But he didn't need to attract unnecessary attention from the school faculty or the other students. And Clive would have his head if he thought Harry was getting distracted from the operation.

Ruth nodded. "I understand. It makes complete sense. We're consenting adults but it doesn't really make you look very good does it? Or me either, for that matter. Though I do hope I'll be getting top marks in your class after this."

Harry laughed, hugging her tight. "Ruth, we already know you're smarter than I am. You'd have earned top marks in the class before I had any idea that you earn top marks in bed as well."

She blushed furiously. "Top marks? Really?"

He growled in her ear, "Yes, you're very good."

* * *

 _August 2003_

Harry was in his office with the blinds drawn, his face in his hands, feeling very much like he could use a good cry. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. One innocuous mistake and now he was in trouble with the French and likely about to be fired.

The door opened without so much as a knock. He knew who it was without looking up. "I'm not in the mood," he grumbled.

"I don't bloody care if you're not in the mood, Harry, how could you be so thoughtless!?" she hissed.

He turned to face her. "It was two in the morning, so I came home and put the briefcase in the safe. And I don't recall you complaining last night when I joined you in bed after locking said briefcase in the safe," he pointed out. Despite how horrifically the day had turned out, his house getting broken into and Firestorm being stolen, Harry couldn't regret hurrying home knowing Ruth was in his bed and finding her sleeping on her stomach completely naked. He'd stripped down and gently woken her with kisses down her spine. Even now, he could hear her moans muffled into the pillow as he'd taken her from behind, hard and fast before they both passed out in sated exhaustion. Though it was probably thanks to the late-night lovemaking that he'd woken up exhausted and forgotten to take the briefcase with him when he'd left for work.

"You know better, Harry!" Despite their rule of keeping their relationship away from the Grid, Ruth knelt down in front of his chair, resting her hands on his knees and softly pleading with him. "You've got to tell the DG, and you've got to accept the consequences. That's what you'd do if this was any of the rest of us."

"I'll handle this, Ruth," he growled in annoyance. "And need I remind you that telling the DG and accepting the consequences of this cock-up would also require an explanation of why your clothes and fingerprints and DNA are all over my house as well? Would you like me to tell the DG that I've been fucking my analyst for the last month?"

Ruth looked as though she were about to slap him across the face. Honestly, he probably deserved it. But she just stared at him in slight shock. And without a word, she stood up and walked right out of his office.

Over the following days, Tom had been a great help in assuring Harry didn't get in too much trouble over the lost briefcase. They recovered everything and used young JJ as a cleanskin to save the day. Zoe had been very vocal in her opposition to such tactics, and Harry knew that if Ruth weren't so mad at him, she would have voiced similar opinions. As it was, he was rather certain she'd never speak to him outside of work ever again. He'd made a mess of everything, and even though it had all been worked out for Five, Harry was less confident in his personal future.

Harry had the unenviable task of moving house, now that security was compromised at his old place. It was a pity; he'd liked that house quite a bit, and he had very lovely memories of Ruth with him there. Though if he'd ruined things with her beyond repair, he'd be heartbroken to return to that house without her. And so he went about working with human resources in finding suitable replacement residences for himself. The department had narrowed down to a list of three for him to choose between. He had a few days to visit each one and see what he liked best.

Before he'd decided, however, he received a parcel delivered from human resources with the keys to one of the houses and instructions for the security system. Very confused about how and why his new house had been chosen for him, Harry drove over to the address. It was quickly revealed what had occurred.

Sitting on the steps out front was a very nervous Ruth Evershed. "You're not supposed to hack my email," he scolded lightly, smiling at her. "What made you choose this house?"

"There's a garden for Scarlett, and the front room gets that lovely sunlight in the morning. I thought we could have breakfast in there," she replied with a bashful smile.

Harry reached out to her, pleased she took his hand to help her stand. "I take it this means you've forgiven me?"

"I was rather hoping you'd forgive me."

"Why do you need my forgiveness?" he asked with confusion.

"It was my fault you didn't take the briefcase straight to the Grid. You wanted to get home to me, and I let you get distracted from your duty. Isn't that why you so rudely lashed out at me?"

He gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "I suppose so. I don't blame you in the least, Ruth. I really should know better. And I won't make the same mistake again. But I think it's best if we move on from this and perhaps we can go inside and see my new house?"

A mischievous smile curled on her beautiful lips. "We've got so many new rooms to christen."

Knowing that he was now well and truly forgiven, Harry laughed and kissed her before unlocking the door and continuing with her inside.

* * *

 _October 1993_

"I've told my friends about you," Ruth announced.

Harry frowned. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't say anything."

She shook her head. "No, I didn't say who you are, don't worry. But I've been so happy the last few weeks, and my roommate Liza kept asking where I've been every other night and all day on the weekends."

"Are you not usually so happy?"

She sighed. "Not at all, actually. It was only a matter of time before she noticed. Though even my friend Cheryl's been asking why I'm suddenly so cheerful."

Harry was unspeakably sad to hear that Ruth wasn't known to be a happy person. There was so much about her life and her past that he didn't know, so much that he wished he could learn about her. But it wouldn't be fair to prompt such revelations from her when he could offer so little in return. She knew his name, and she knew his heart. That would have to be enough. "So what did you tell them?" he asked.

"I had to confess that the older man I'd mentioned to them a while back who asked me out, the one I fancied, was now a fixture in my life. And I can't possibly be sad when the sex is so good." Ruth pressed a small kiss to the tip of his nose to punctuate the statement.

Oh the things she said! Harry laughed, as he did so uncharacteristically often with Ruth. "I'm very glad you've been enjoying." He held her tight, still pleased beyond belief that he had a beautiful woman sitting on his lap in his office in the middle of the day as she helped him go over his lecture outline for the following week.

Ruth wiggled against him provocatively, eliciting a groan of arousal from him that made her giggle. "I hope you're still enjoying as well."

"I've told you, Ruth, top marks in class and in bed. You're in no danger of falling below your usual standard of excellence." He nuzzled her neck, peppering kisses just below her ear.

Her eyes were shining with a playful sparkle. "Well, even if you haven't taught me anything in the classroom, you've been a wonderful teacher in the bedroom."

"Have I? How so?" he prompted, despite knowing how dangerous it was to get worked up on campus like this. If this went much further, he'd bend her over his desk and take her right there.

"Well, what we did last night? That was entirely new for me," she confessed.

Harry felt all the blood rush to his groin. The night before, he'd been lying in bed with Ruth giving him a phenomenal blowjob. He'd made her pause and readjust to sit over his face while she went down on him so he could eat her out at the same time. She'd moaned and screamed when she climaxed with his cock in her mouth. "You're certainly a quick study," he told her breathlessly.

"I've always been a very good student." That smirk on her face was going to be the death of him.

All of a sudden, a loud knock came at the door. "Professor Richardson?"

Ruth scrambled up and Harry practically pushed her off him as the head of the Political Science department came into the office. "Yes, Professor Landry, what can I do for you?" Harry greeted, swallowing hard and willing his erection to dissipate.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you were with a student."

"I was just leaving. Professor Richardson answered my questions about Marxism. I'll see you in class tomorrow, Professor." Ruth smiled and slipped out of the room quickly.

Harry quietly blessed her quick thinking and turned his attention to his temporary boss. As uninvited as this interruption was, it was for the best. They needed to be more careful. And Harry needed to pull himself together. If Landry hadn't walked in right then, things may have progressed past the point where Harry could stop himself from telling Ruth that he loved her.


	7. Chapter 7

_September 2003_

The meeting started out just as any other that day, Danny presenting information about gunrunners with ties to Al-Qaida. As she often did, Ruth watched Harry to pick up on any signs of his feelings on the situation. These gunrunners looked to be giving him particular concern. Ruth made a note to herself to take a closer look when she did her research. Tom had asked her to find out whatever she could on them, so she went right to it.

Ruth enjoyed this work, she really did. Digging into a problem, finding everything she could, being creative in where she looked and how she could get in undetected. She'd always had a curious nature, but when she was young, she had learned to curb it, to keep herself from making too much of a fuss. It was a habit she'd unlearned, much to her benefit in most cases.

As was her usual method in cases such as this, Ruth began her search in the registry, seeing if there were any files MI-5 already had on the persons or organizations she was looking into. In this case, these particular gunrunners seemed to have had a long history with the Service. There were plenty of old documents, reports of using various assets within the group for a variety of purposes, most of which were successful. On the whole, it seemed this group hadn't been much of a threat over the years. Their operation was mostly small, covering one particular shipping dock in Southampton for their imports and exports, and they'd stayed under the radar by providing information to the Security Services when requested.

One report in particular caught Ruth's attention. A simple surveillance mission which, upon quick glance, had absolutely no relevance to their current inquiry, but Ruth pored over every detail nonetheless. She vacillated for a moment, unsure of what she should do with it, but in the end, she decided to take the report with her. It wouldn't do to make a fuss over it now, not while there was work to be done, but later. Later, she'd get confirmation of her theories.

* * *

 _October 1993_

"I'd like to take you away for the weekend."

Ruth sat up in Harry's bed and looked at him curiously. "You would? Where?"

"I'd quite fancy a cuddle on the beach, what do you think?"

She laughed, "Harry, it's nearly November! It'll be freezing!"

"Well we won't go in the water. And we can wear coats. I'll keep you warm," he promised.

Ruth considered for a moment and decided she very much liked the idea of getting to go away with Harry, to be together somewhere other than in his flat. She was immediately filled with images of walking on the beach hand in hand, actually having dinner together at a restaurant, feeling like they were really together and not just keeping their relationship secret. "Alright," she agreed with a smile.

"Good. And get all your reading and assignments done before we leave, alright? I don't want you distracted by schoolwork while I'm trying to romance you on the coast," he teased, pulling her back down onto the bed and holding her gloriously naked body in his arms.

"When are we leaving? And where are we going?"

"Meet me here on Friday morning with all your things. I'll hire a car so we can drive down to Southampton."

"That sounds lovely, Harry. Thank you." She pressed a gentle but lingering kiss to his lips. Did he know what it meant to her, that he wanted to take her away for the weekend? That he wanted to spend time with her away from Oxford, where they could just be themselves and not hide away? She hoped he did.

Ruth hurried back to her own flat soon after, excited to show off a bit to Liza that her chap was taking her away for the weekend, and wasn't she ever so lucky?

* * *

 _September 2003_

Harry was working late in his office. He desperately wanted to crawl into bed with Ruth, but they hadn't made any plans for the evening, and she was still working at her desk, so there was nothing for it. But he saw her rise from her chair with a file in her hand. He could see the look on her face was one of business, not pleasure, but he couldn't quite bring himself to hide his own besotted expression as he watched her.

She entered his office without knocking, as usual. "Have you got a minute?"

"For you, Ruth, always."

She pursed her lips in mild annoyance. Certainly business, then. She dropped the file on his desk and frowned, waiting for him to review it and answer her unspoken questions.

Immediately, Harry knew what she was asking. It was a report he himself had drafted. "Southampton, November 1993," he read aloud.

"The same gunrunners we're handling now."

"Yes, back in 93, there was a rumor they were selling to the IRA. But there was nothing to be concerned with, as you read from my report right there." He closed the file and looked up at her, waiting for her questions or accusations before he gave any explanation.

"I knew. Somehow, I always knew."

He frowned. That wasn't the response he'd expected. "You knew what?"

"I knew you were doing something in Southampton more than shagging me on the beach."

"I think I'd remember if I'd shagged you on the beach, Ruth."

"Harry, you know what I mean!" she scolded. "Your attention was elsewhere, you were far too particular about the tables we were sitting at in the restaurants, you took me on walks by the docks. You were on an operation during our weekend away!"

He sighed, "It was probably extremely foolish of me to bring you with me on an operation. Actually, if Tom ever tried anything like what I did, I'd wring his bloody neck. But as you can see from the report, there is no mention of you anywhere. And I ensured that your presence did not compromise my operation in any way. And if you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

Ruth averted her gaze and Harry could detect a very slight blush in her cheeks. "I didn't want to spoil our holiday. I didn't want you to think I was being nosy."

"Well I'm rather glad you didn't say anything. I quite enjoyed that holiday with you, even if I was on operation."

She furrowed her brow with deep concern. "Please tell me just one thing."

"Anything."

"Was I in any danger?"

"No. I swear it. It was a surveillance operation only. I was sent down because I was closest, and it wouldn't have interfered with my op in Oxford to go, since it was only a few days and it didn't run any risk of contact with the gunrunners. I wouldn't have taken you with me if there was any chance you'd come into harm's way. But I hope you know, Ruth, then and now, there's nothing I won't do to protect you and keep you safe," he vowed quietly.

Ruth swallowed hard and nodded. She picked up the file from his desk and walked out of his office.

* * *

 _October 1993_

"Harry, I absolutely love it here!" Ruth gushed, holding his arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek as they walked along the promenade.

He grinned with pure joy. They'd been very lucky with the weather in Southampton. It was unseasonably bright and though the wind was rather chilly, it wasn't as freezing as they'd expected. Harry couldn't believe his luck, getting to walk with a woman he adored on a sunny day without a care in the world.

Of course, that wasn't entirely true. At all. He was sent down to Southampton to check on Five's favorite gunrunning assets, those uncouth men who worked in the shadows on the docks with questionable legality and would happily sell their secrets for the right price. But the timing had worked out absolutely perfect for Harry to bring Ruth with him and have some much-deserved time to themselves.

They walked together, pausing to share a kiss here and there just because they could. Ruth had never been to Southampton, so she didn't know they were in fact walking away from the public beach and instead toward the docks. Harry had his eye out for anything to report back to Clive. There were rumors their assets were now working with the IRA, but nothing could be confirmed. As far as Harry was concerned, he was on holiday with his girlfriend unless he heard an Irish accent anywhere near those docks.

Luckily for Harry, he'd done his research before this trip. He'd booked a room for Ruth and himself at the Dolphin Hotel in town, the very same hotel where Jane Austen used to attend dances when she lived in Southampton. Ruth was utterly enthralled with the idea that she was walking the same halls as Jane Austen. Her enthusiasm worked in his favor, as he was able to let her babble on about whatever she wanted as he was sitting in the café and watching the kitchen where the younger—and more impressionable—dockworkers were known to work on the side. Harry had a feeling that if there was anything shady going on, it would be away from public view and likely away from the docks were inspectors would be around to ask questions.

There was a lull in the conversation, causing Harry to turn his attention back to Ruth. She was watching him very carefully, her brilliant blue eyes alight with suspicion, but she said nothing. And when he took her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers, she smiled, and all such suspicion was gone.

Harry scolded himself. He knew better. She was far too clever, and he needed to pay better attention. But how could he, when she was sitting there looking lovelier than ever, sharing his affection openly and freely for the first time? If only they could stay on holiday together forever. If only the darkness of the spook world didn't threaten to disturb their joy. But so help him, tomorrow they'd have the perfect day. Selfishly, Harry felt he deserved it.


	8. Chapter 8

_November 1993_

Ruth felt a bit silly, bundled up in a thick jumper and lying on a blanket on the beach in Southampton. But this was what Harry wanted to do after lunch, so she agreed. She rolled over and cuddle closer to him, tilting her head up to press a soft kiss on his jaw.

He hummed happily, tightening his hold on her. "I'm so glad you're here with me today."

"Just today?"

"Always. But especially today," he confessed. With a slightly embarrassed sigh, he told her, "It's my birthday today."

She smiled. "And how old are you?" she asked him teasingly.

Harry's good humor soured. "Forty," he admitted, grumbling.

But Ruth paid it no mind. She wiggled out of his grip to sit up and look at him. "Happy birthday, Harry," she told him with a happy grin. She leaned in and kissed him. "So what are we doing to celebrate?"

"Is snogging on the beach not celebration enough?"

Ruth laughed, "No, it isn't. What do you want to do today?"

Harry pulled her down to kiss her again, simply because he wanted to. "Well," he finally said, "I thought perhaps I'd teach you something today."

A knowing smirk curled over her lips. "So back to bed?"

"Later," he murmured. "But first, we're going to a pub. And I'm not going to let you order cider."

They both got up to make their way off the beach. Ruth reminded him, "I thought you like how cider tastes on me?"

"I think whiskey will taste much better."

She grimaced slightly.

"I'm going to teach you about really wonderful scotch. I saw a place by the hotel that stocks my favorite."

Ruth agreed with slight apprehension. For not the first time, she keenly felt the differences between Harry and herself, not only in age but in position. She knew she was bright and mature, but she also knew she was still very young with her whole life ahead of her. Harry, on the other hand, was a professor and forty years old and more experienced than she in everything. As much as she appreciated it, getting to learn from him and benefit from his wisdom, it was often a bit daunting. But the bright side, of course, was that she would only gain more from continuing to be with him, and perhaps if she remained open and willing, he wouldn't tire of her anytime soon. He did want to spend his fortieth birthday out of town with her, so surely that was a good sign. At least, she hoped it was.

Harry helped her up onto the barstool in the dark, old pub and ordered for them. "Now then, Ruth, this is Ardbeg Scotch. It's distilled on the Isle of Isaly off the west coast of Scotland."

She watched the bartender place a bottle and two empty glasses in front of them along with a glass of water. Part of her bristled at being instructed by Harry in such a patronizing tone, but she did have to admit she knew nothing about scotch and was eager to learn. Besides, it was his birthday, and this was what he wanted to do. The least she could do was indulge him.

He poured a small amount in each empty glass and slid one over to her. "Now, gently swirl the scotch, let it coat the glass so the flavor opens up." Ruth did as he told her. "Yes, perfect. Now I'm going to add just a little bit of water to it to dull the alcohol so you can actually taste it."

"So there is an actual flavor beyond just burning?" she asked sarcastically.

The bartender gave her a very disapproving look, but Harry just nudged her playfully with her elbow. "Just trust me. It's an acquired taste, certainly, but quite nice when you know what you're doing." He finished pouring the water and swirling his own scotch. "And now you take a sip."

Both of them took a drink at the same time. Ruth had to admit that it wasn't as horrible as she'd expected. Harry looked to be in absolute bliss. It was an expression on his face that she was quite used to by now. Her mind began to churn with thoughts of how she could give him a proper birthday present in bed later, what sort of delicious things he might like to do.

"Well?" he asked expectantly.

Ruth had been distracted. She took another sip and then leaned in to kiss him deeply. "It tastes much better on you," she teased.

He pressed his lips to hers again, his tongue darting out to taste her. "Never tasted better, I'd say."

The bartender coughed to alert them of his presence. Ruth turned bright red. Harry put some money on the table and took the bottle and their glasses, leading her to a table in the back.

"There. Now we won't be making a spectacle of ourselves," he reasoned.

"It's your birthday, Harry. We can do whatever you want." Ruth gave him another soft kiss and turned to whisper in his ear, "Whatever you want." She bit his earlobe and squeezed his thigh under the table to indicate precisely what she meant by that.

Harry's breathing quickened slightly. "Yes," he replied rather dumbly.

Ruth poured them each a bit more scotch. "Let's have another drink and you can plan how you'd like to spend the rest of your birthday."

* * *

 _November 2003_

"Happy birthday, Harry!" everyone shouted.

Harry began to laugh, amazed that his team had actually taken the time and energy to throw him a party. There was champagne and a few paltry decorations, but the thought was what mattered. He doubted any of them knew that it was a rather significant birthday for him. Though that made their efforts even more meaningful.

His gaze searched the group and landed on the beautiful blue eyes he was looking for. He made his way over to Ruth and they stepped off to the side. He asked quietly, "I take it you planned this?"

"Danny and Sam did most of it," she replied.

"But they didn't know it was my birthday," he pointed out.

"I may have given them the idea."

He smiled, resisting the urge to kiss her. "I'll thank you properly later."

Ruth bit her bottom lip playfully. "But I haven't given you your gift yet."

"Perhaps we can revisit my gift from my fortieth birthday?"

"Well we can't go to the beach, but I think I've planned a sufficient recreation," she hinted. "In fact, the first part is hidden in your office now. And I think it's safe to say that it's probably the only part of the gift that is always better when it's aged ten years."

Ruth nodded toward the office and turned away to pour some more champagne and chat with Zoe. Harry was slightly taken aback but was very curious. He had wanted to tell her that he certainly hadn't aged well in ten years, but Ruth had aged very, _very_ well. He longed to tell her that everything he'd adored about her when she was young had only been magnified and seasoned and perfected over their ten years apart. She was utterly perfect to him, endlessly brilliant and kind, immensely sexy and witty, like his fondest dreams come true. But of course, Harry couldn't tell her that at work. She'd probably run for the hills if he did, even without anyone else around. Ruth had grown much warier over the ten years, understanding better the consequences of her actions based on years out in the real world without the comfort of the university to protect her. Her youthful recklessness had been matched by his own, and Harry couldn't help but feel that they'd both improved with age in that respect.

He maneuvered through the small crowd, pausing to give Tom a proper tongue lashing over his hideously stupid relationship with Christine Dale—Harry may have been guilty of his own inappropriate liaison, but at least Ruth was on side! But Harry finally made his way into his office and found four bottles in a row on his sideboard. There were little tags covering the labels, spelling out R-U-T-H. Harry knew what these were from the shape of the bottle, however, and his suspicions were proved. Ardbeg Scotch.

Ruth was watching him through the window and winked. He smiled. She remembered.

* * *

 _November 1993_

By the time they made it up to the hotel room after their drinks and dinner in the pub, Harry was practically shaking with anticipation. It was his birthday, and Ruth was going to let him do whatever he wanted. He'd introduced her to quite a few things in bed, but he'd been saving this for a special occasion. He had the whole thing choreographed in his mind, and just thinking about it was making him hard.

"How do you want me?" she asked seductively, kicking off her shoes as soon as the door was closed behind them.

"Take your clothes off," he instructed.

Ruth bit her bottom lip, her eyes flashing excitedly. Harry settled himself in the chair off to the side of the bed, watching her. Yes, he was going to make her strip for him, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

There was a bit of apprehension in her movements, but Harry made sure to express his appreciation for her efforts in his expression. First, she pulled the scrunchie out of her hair and tossed it to him. He smiled and fingered the elastic material as she shook her hair. Harry couldn't wait to tangle his fingers in her dark, silky tresses. Ruth then crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her white knit jumper and pulled it over her head, letting it fall to the floor beside her. She was left only in a white cotton bra and her jeans, which fit tight around her waist to show off her sensual curves. Harry shifted where he sat as his own jeans grew uncomfortably tight. Ruth walked toward him as she unbuttoned and unzipped her trousers. She pushed them down and kicked them off by the time she was standing directly in front of him.

"Your turn," she whispered.

Harry stood and resisted the urge to touch him. "It's my birthday. You do it."

Ruth wasted no time pulling the black jumper over his head and pulling his vest out where it was tightly tucked into his jeans. Harry had to hurry to kick off his shoes. Ruth's hands were all over his bare chest, and he was having trouble concentrating. She traced the myriad of scars, and for not the first time, he could sense the question on her tongue that she hadn't dared ask. He was glad for that. He didn't want to lie to her. Not now, not on his birthday.

She pushed his jeans and trunks down and started to stroke his erection. Harry indulged in the sensation for a moment before he pulled away from her. He looked her up and down, wearing only the thin bra and matching knickers. Her nipples were hard, straining the fabric, and her dark curls were a visible shadow between her legs. "Take them off," he breathed, barely able to make coherent sound come out of his lips.

Once Ruth was finally completely naked, Harry lifted her up by her waist and practically tossed her back onto the bed. She landed with a surprised yelp. Harry quickly crawled on top of her and silenced her with a searing kiss. He moved quickly now, dragging his tongue and teeth down her neck, nipping at her breasts, licking a trail down her stomach, and settling himself between her thighs.

Earlier, when he'd gotten the idea to taste his favorite whiskey from her lips, he decided he wanted to taste all of her today. Over the month or so they'd been sleeping together, Harry had figured out that nothing got him harder than listening to the sounds Ruth made when he went down on her like this. When he did eventually get to plunge inside her, the ensuing orgasm was always utterly incredible.

When she came, her thighs tightened around his head, smothering him against her sex. If he was going to die, this was how he'd want to go. But he had more he wanted to do first. Harry prized her legs apart, even while she was still writhing and moaning in ecstasy, and flipped her over. "Up on your knees," he panted, breathing heavily with anticipation.

Ruth complied, her whole body a bit wobbly as she got on all fours in front of him. He exhaled slowly, gazing at the gorgeous swell of her bum, massaging her flesh rather roughly in his hands. He lined himself up and thrust into her hard. "God, Harry!" Ruth cried out. He hadn't taken her hard like this since that first time in his Oxford flat when she'd invited herself over and he'd lost all control, fucking her on the side table by the door.

But this was different. Harry was in complete control. He knew exactly what he was doing, dreamed of it for weeks. In this position, he had the right leverage to pound into her fast and rough. He had one hand on her hip, holding her with bruising strength, and one hand buried in her hair to hold her in place. Since he'd already built her up to one climax earlier, her body was sensitive and ready for him again. Her slick heat clenched him quicker than he'd imagined. Ruth was moaning and screaming like he'd never heard her, and before he knew it, he couldn't hold back anymore. He pulled out of her just in time and came all over her bum before collapsing beside her.

Harry reached over to grab a tissue from the nightstand to clean her up. Ruth rolled over onto her back, still trying to catch her breath. "Jesus," she swore.

"Alright?" he asked, too caught in his orgasmic haze to show any real concern.

"Can we do that again?"

He gave a wheezy laugh. "A bit later," he promised, turning to kiss her bare shoulder.

Harry smiled. Forty was certainly his best birthday ever.

* * *

 _November 2003_

Ruth arrived at Harry's house before he did, eager to recreate the night of his fortieth birthday as best she could for his fiftieth. She smiled to herself at the thought. It didn't bother her in he slightest that Harry was fifty and she was only in her thirties. She'd grown up a lot in the ten years they were apart. He was still her boss, still older and wiser and more experienced, but the old anxieties and that desperation to please him lest he get bored, all of that was gone. Ruth knew her worth, knew her skill, knew her value to him. Barring any dire changes between them, Ruth had faith now that Harry wasn't going anywhere. Not like before. No, she truly knew him now and knew he'd earned her trust.

Downstairs, she heard Harry call out her name. She told him to come up to the bedroom. As soon as he joined her, she pointed to the chair by the bed. "Take your jacket off and sit. I'm going to take my clothes off."

Harry's eyes darkened with desire. "You weren't kidding about recreating my birthday from back then, were you?"

Ruth gave a proud little smile. She'd been planning this for weeks. She was wearing a thick white jumper and a pair of jeans and had her hair piled up on her head. "The clothes are as best as I could manage ten years later. I'm afraid I haven't got the originals anymore, and I wouldn't fit into them even if I did. And I couldn't seem to find a scrunchie anywhere."

"Pity," Harry teased, taking a seat and getting ready for the show.

Just as she'd done ten years earlier, Ruth first took her hair down and shook it out. She saw the glint of recognition in Harry's eyes, indicating that he remembered how this had all gone. Did he knew that she'd never stripped for anyone before that? Or for anyone since? It was a special moment with Harry that she'd loved but doing that for any other man hadn't ever felt right. Perhaps she'd find another occasion to do this for him again, something she could plan out a bit more beyond wearing clothes similar to those from a decade before.

By the time she removed her jumper, Harry was breathing heavily. She stripped off her jeans as she made her way toward him, standing in only a set of white undergarments. Remembering his role, Harry stood up, too. Ruth didn't hesitate in going to work taking his clothes off him. Her fingers traced the familiar old scars that she still hadn't found the right moment to ask him about—hopefully now he could tell her, assuming she had proper clearance. But those thoughts flew out of her head as she pushed his trousers and trunks to the floor and stroked him with practiced confidence.

She stepped away from him and removed her bra and knickers before lying back on the bed. Ruth knew better than to try to let him throw her as he'd done before. Harry wasn't in the same shape as he was, and she'd gained over two stone since university.

Harry leaned over her, covering her with his body. He kissed her deeply and allowed his hands to explore her flesh. Ruth writhed beneath him, having trouble breathing as his feathery touch lit her nerves aflame. He finally released her lips from his and slowly made his way down her body. She was whimpering by the time his tongue darted out to trace her folds. This was the thing she loved and hated most about this older Harry: he was so much more measured than ever before, took his time and knew better how to savor it all. It made her very impatient, but it also made every single touch and feeling more powerful than anything she'd ever experienced.

When her first orgasm crashed over her, Ruth knew she needed to turn over and get up on her knees for him, but without him flipping her himself, she found it quite difficult to move. Harry seemed to notice but insisted on torturing her instead. Rather than relenting, he continued to lick and suck and tease her, bringing her to another climax before the other had even dissipated. This time she had to jerk away from him, before his efforts proved too much and cause her to pass out.

Ruth finally managed to get up onto all fours for him. She heard Harry groan in appreciation as he kneaded the flesh of her bum. She wiggled a bit, indicating she was ready for him. But just as she felt Harry lined up at her center, he stopped and swore. Ruth turned to see his face contorted in pain.

"Lie back, it's alright." She helped him onto his back and started to massage his bad knee. He hadn't said it was the knee, but Ruth made the assumption and the sigh of relief he emitted told her she was right. When his breathing had mostly normalized, she slowed. "Alright?"

"I've aged those ten years," he grumbled in disappointment.

"So have I, Harry. But I think maybe we've improved with age like your scotch. For example, I've gotten much more creative. I've got plenty of ways to give you a happy birthday." And in illustration, Ruth firmly grasped his flagging erection and stroked him a few times before taking him in her mouth.

Harry moaned her name in deep appreciation. She could feel him hardening on her tongue, which pleased her. He tangled a hand in her hair, guiding her movements. But Ruth pulled away, satisfied now that he was ready for her.

She straddled him and sank down onto his erection hard. She couldn't help the cry of satisfaction that fell from her as she felt him fill and stretch her. Without much pause, she planted her hands on his chest and lifted herself up before slamming down again. She rode him hard and rough, grinding down on him. Harry grasped her hips with bruising strength, moving her faster and faster. She was so close, and when Harry bent his knees to plant his feet on the bed and thrust up hard to meet her, she shattered. Ruth's extremities went numb as her head rolled back and she cried out, her overpowering orgasm pulsing through her whole body and continuing as Harry came inside her. When he finally stilled, she tipped forward, resting against his shoulder with his cock still inside her.

Eventually, she had to let him slip out of her when she rolled onto the bed but still holding him close. "I know that was a slight change of plans, but I hope it was a worthy substitute."

"Even better than before, Ruth," he assured her, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. "Fifty is certainly my best birthday ever."


	9. Chapter 9

_November 2003_

Ruth barely heard anything. As soon as the words "Harry's been shot" came through the phone, nothing but the frantic beating of her heart and the white noise of sheer dread sounded in her ears. Like a panicked buzzing fogging up her brain. She wasn't sure how to describe it. But as soon as she put down the phone, she just burst into tears.

It pained her more than she could express, the idea that he was hurt. The last time she'd seen him injured and incapacitated was when she'd figured out how deeply she felt for him. She'd thought she'd understood that she loved him, even then. But seeing Harry in pain had wounded her in her very soul. And it was just a few months ago when she'd thought he was dying during the EERIE exercise. That had been an act, but it had brought all the same fears right back to her. But this, right now, this was real.

Harry, her Harry, was in an ambulance, barely clinging to life. He was far away, and she couldn't hold him in her arms, kiss him, tell him she loved him. But surely he knew, didn't he? After all they'd been through? Then and now? He must. Still, she'd never told him. He deserved to know. He needed to know all of it.

As her tears fell unhindered down her face, Ruth resolved that she'd find a way to tell him. To tell him that she'd changed her whole life because of their frantic love affair ten years earlier. To tell him that he'd utterly broken her heart. To tell him that she'd never gotten over him and never recovered. To tell him that upon meeting him again on her first day at Five that she'd tripped down the rabbit hole again, with Harry filling her daydreams and nighttime fantasies. To tell him that the months they'd spent wrapped in each other's arms were the best she'd ever experienced. To tell him that she never wanted to live a day without him. To tell him that he was the love of her life.

But for the time being, she'd pray to a god she wasn't sure existed that her Harry would pull through so she could get to tell him all these things. Ruth had her cry and wiped her eyes and got back to work. After all, that's what Harry needed now. He needed her to get back to work, to protect the Grid from Mace and to find Tom to pay for his sins.

* * *

 _November 1993_

Very few times in his life had Harry Pearce wept for himself. For others, certainly. But rarely for himself. And he very much wanted to do so now.

At first, he'd been so full of rage, nothing else had mattered. It wasn't absolutely necessary for him to have shot that PIRA mercenary, but after he'd found his informant beat to a pulp and he himself had been attacked, Harry felt quite pleased to eliminate the scum himself.

But now that his quick revenge was exacted and he'd calmed down, Harry was faced with the awful reality of his situation. He was injured, likely permanently, and his operation in Oxford was utterly ruined. And all the implications of both those things were weighing on him rather heavily now.

A knock sounded at the front door to his dingy apartment. Knowing exactly who it was, he called, "Come in, it's open!"

"Harry, is everything alright? There's a sign on your office saying you're home sick."

He smiled in spite of his dire circumstances. "I'm not actually sick, but I'm very glad you're here. I should have called you."

Ruth closed the door behind her and walked around the sofa to see him lying there. "Oh my god, what's happened!?" she cried.

"I tripped on a slippery walk and landed directly on my knee. I've got a small fracture of my kneecap and I've totally ruined my ligaments," he lied. Despite knowing the necessity, he absolutely hated lying to Ruth. It was odd, feeling bad about the lying. It was so engrained in him and came so naturally now, but to lie to Ruth felt like crossing a line, somehow. But he couldn't very well tell her the truth, that he'd been going to meet a student who he'd recruited as an informer on the Irish and the PIRA sent an enforcer to silence the student and crack Harry's knee with a lead pipe.

The look on Ruth's face filled him with dread. She was blessed and cursed with a very easy to read face. And right now, he could see so clearly her sympathy and fear and hint of disbelief. That last bit of suspicion was pushed out of her eyes as she asked, "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Sadly, yes," he replied, unconcerned about telling her this truth. "But I feel much better having you here."

"Do you need anything? How can I help?" she asked.

Harry smiled, swallowing back the agony throbbing from his bruised, swollen leg. "I'd love a cup of tea."

Ruth nodded with determination. "I can certainly manage that. Anything else?"

"A bit of toast? But don't go to too much trouble. I'd rather have you here sitting with me," he replied.

She nodded again and turned to go into the kitchen to make him that tea and toast. But she paused and turned back to him. Without a word, she leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to his lips.

Harry was smiling as he watched her walk into the kitchen and fuss with the tea things.

* * *

 _December 2003_

It had been a few weeks of sheer hell for Harry, being shot by Tom Quinn, rescuing Section D from Mace's clutches, exonerating Tom, then having to send him packing when he burned out. To say he was exhausted was an understatement.

But through it all, he had Ruth. Beautiful, brilliant Ruth. She'd been invaluable on the Grid and of course invaluable in his personal life. Harry felt as though they'd reached something of an understanding between them. They hadn't slept a night apart in over a month, and Harry hoped that in the new year, perhaps she could move in with him officially. He certainly didn't want to ever be without her. He needed her so much, it almost scared him. He had been a bit obsessed with a few women in his past, been driven to distraction by their beauty and his fantasies of having them in his bed, but Ruth was different. He relied on her in a way he never could with any woman in his past. He trusted her. And unlike anyone else, she truly knew him and miraculously wanted him anyway.

All of that became very clear to him in the midst of this chaos. She did her job better than he could have ever hoped, and she nestled in his arms in the middle of the night, banishing every one of his doubts and fears. Being with Ruth gave him strength when he was weak, showed him light in the darkness, reminded him of all the goodness that existed amidst the horrors of the world.

And when it finally seemed like things were getting back to normal, with Adam Carter as his new Section Chief and their operations being more routine and less dire than they had been in past weeks, everything fell apart.

"Catherine Townsend," Danny said, throwing a picture of a young woman up on the screen.

"Catherine," Harry breathed, standing up and staring at the photo. She was so beautiful. She'd cut her hair, it seemed. How long had it been since he'd seen her?

"You know her?"

"She's my daughter," he replied ruefully.

There was a bit more discussion on the matter, but Harry was all out of sorts. Hadn't even known she was back in the country. She hadn't called. But then again, she rarely did. He sat at his desk, feeling full of regret and self-pity.

Movement out on the Grid caught his eye. He looked up and saw Ruth walking toward his office. Oh Christ, Ruth! How could he possibly face his failures as a father to her, the kindest woman he'd ever known, who'd lost her own father at such a young age. Harry hadn't died, as much as Catherine perhaps wished he had, but he had abandoned his children in favor of his career, when he hadn't known what else to do.

"Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked, entering his office without knocking as she always did.

He nodded. "Close the blinds."

She did so and sat opposite his desk, rather than on the sofa. He allowed her to keep the distance between them.

"What can I do for you, Ruth?" he asked gently when she didn't speak.

With a frown marring her lovely features, she began, "I know there are things you can't tell me for security reasons, and that's fine. But I desperately need you to not lie to me right now. I have ways of finding out the truth if I have to, but I really, really hope you'll just tell me."

"Of course."

"Harry, are you divorced with two grown children?"

He was rather taken aback by her question. "Yes," he replied simply. Surely she knew that already?

She swallowed hard, clearly trying not to cry. "When did you get divorced?"

"Oh. Erm…1986, I think? I don't quite remember. It took quite a while to finalize everything but I know it began in '86. I was away in the field a lot back then," he explained uncomfortably.

"That's good at least," she muttered, staring at her wringing hands. Harry waited patiently for her to say something else, to explain what was bothering her. Eventually, she looked up. "I think I should stay at my house for a few days. By myself. I…I need some time," she told him.

His heart plummeted in his chest. "Whatever for? Because my daughter is involved in an operation?"

"Because until Adam asked me to look into her, I didn't know you had a daughter. I didn't know you'd ever been married," she hissed.

"Oh, but…"

"And while I'm glad to know that I didn't spend a semester in school shagging a married man, I'm still having a bit of trouble trusting you right now, and I need some time to myself to get past that," Ruth replied. And without any further discussion, she stood up and walked out of his office.

Harry put his head in his hands, feeling rather ill and quite like having a cry.

* * *

 _December 1993_

Ruth hurried up the stairs to Harry's tiny second floor flat. He was only leaving the flat to teach classes now—and Ruth was doing even more than before to prepare lectures for him—and so she was spending all her free time with him at home. He was on crutches and healing very slowly from that bad fall he'd taken. She could tell he was in immense pain but trying to be brave about it. Poor love. Though to be fair, they weren't spending a lot of their alone time out of his bed before he'd been injured, so this really wasn't too much of an adjustment.

The snow was starting to coat the streets and grounds at Oxford, and Christmas decorations were starting to pop up everywhere. Very soon, Ruth would need to study for her exams and finish her term papers before she went to Exeter to spend the holiday with her family. She knew she needed to talk to Harry about how they'd manage it all, but she'd been postponing that conversation. Just a few more days before she'd have to survive without him until after the new year, and she didn't even want to think about it. All she wanted to do for now was go into his flat, lock the door behind her, take off all her clothes, and climb on top of him, being very careful to avoid his bad knee.

With this delicious thought in mind, Ruth walked faster down the hall to his door. She paused, however, before opening it. She could hear Harry's voice.

"No, I can't this weekend…no, you know why not…I couldn't possibly!"

Whatever was going on, Harry was very frustrated and upset by it. Ruth pressed her ear to the door to eavesdrop, not wanting to disturb his phone call but wildly curious as to what it was about.

"I am done having this discussion with you, Jane!" he shouted, slamming the phone down on the receiver.

Jane? Who on earth was Jane?

Ruth needed a moment to compose herself. She wouldn't ask Harry who he was talking to, who this Jane was. She didn't want to confess to listening in. And she didn't want to pick a fight with him. After all, they only had a few more days.

With a steadying breath, she knocked on the door. When Harry called for entry, she plastered a smile on her face and went inside.


	10. Chapter 10

_December 1993_

Harry was nearly able to walk again, though with a slight limp. Thankfully, he and Ruth spent nearly all their time lying in bed or on the sofa together. He was hugging her tight in his arms on the sofa that afternoon when she nervously fiddled with the open collar of his shirt.

"What's the matter, Ruth?" he asked softly, stroking her hair.

"Exams are coming soon."

"Yes, I know. And I was sorely tempted to have you write the exam for my class, but I suppose that would be crossing a line, wouldn't it," he teased, hoping to distract from his own anxiousness on the subject.

"I think we need to be apart for the two weeks. I need to study, and you don't let me," she said pragmatically.

Harry chuckled, "Oh, am I a distraction?" To illustrate, he let his hand travel up her blouse and grasp her breast.

Ruth yelped in surprise and laughed, shifting in his arms to press a kiss to the hollow of his neck. "Yes, you're quite a distraction. And I'm nearly done with my degree, so I need to focus. GCHQ will never look twice at my application if I suddenly slip in my grades."

Thank god for training, or Harry might have allowed the myriad of feelings coursing through him to show in his face. For one thing, she hadn't told him that she'd applied to GCHQ. Then again, she'd have no reason to know that it would excite him to no end that she wanted to be an intelligence analyst. But more importantly, the timing couldn't have been better. He'd been plagued for days about how to extricate himself from this relationship. The very thought of leaving her was causing him to lose quite a lot of sleep. But with this injury and the untimely death of his informant, Harry had no reason to be on this operation anymore. And, even more timely, Clive had named him as Section Head to replace him when he retired at the first of the year. Harry was to report back to Five by no later than December fifteenth. He'd be able to abandon this op and return to London with no one the wiser. He could leave Ruth without having to lie about why he needed to say goodbye. He wouldn't even have to say goodbye. And so he merely said, "Do what you need, Ruth. I have every confidence that you'll be able to focus without me bothering you."

"You aren't a bother, Harry. I love being here with you. And when my exams are over, I hope we can have our own little Christmas celebration before I go home to Exeter for the holiday? I couldn't bear it if I had to wait until January to see you again."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, trying to suppress his deep sorrow at the reality he was facing. "Of course," he told her softly.

* * *

 _December 2003_

It had been nearly two weeks since Ruth had told him she needed time. And Harry felt as though he were slowly dying from the inside out. He'd thought he understood how much he needed her, but being without her was much harder than he'd expected. He barely slept. He barely ate. His waking thoughts were consumed by painful longing for her. She was right there on the Grid and beside him at briefings and yet she was so very far away.

Finally, he was able to catch her alone coming back up from the Registry. "Ruth, please talk to me," he begged.

She looked at him, a timid deer caught in the headlights. "I don't know what to say, Harry," she admitted.

He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Ruth, I miss you. More than I can properly say. Please, tell me what I can do to ease whatever concerns you have. I'll…I'll do anything." Harry felt an utter fool, practically coming to her on his knees, but he was well past the point of dignity with her.

"There's just so much to unpick, Harry. There's so much I don't know about you, so much I'll never know. And I don't know how I'm supposed to trust you when I don't know who you are!" she hissed, eyes darting this way and that in the corridor, lest someone catch them speaking this way to each other.

"You do know who I am, Ruth," he insisted. "You know every part of me that matters. You know my very heart, for you hold it in your hands."

She was stunned into silence by his emotional plea.

"Please, I need you."

"I'll think about it. I need to get back to work." Ruth brushed past him but paused. She turned and kissed his cheek before hurrying away.

Harry was filled with the warmth of hope for the first time in weeks. He actually smiled as he went back to his office. But a voice stopped him before he rounded the corner.

"My, aren't you the dark horse," came Malcolm's sly tone.

"What?" Ruth asked him,

"You and Harry. I think it's wonderful. You've been mooning about each other for months now, and I'm so pleased you two have figured out a way to make it work."

Ruth's panicked response could be felt from where Harry was standing and eavesdropping. "Malcolm, it's not what you think. And please, please don't tell anyone," she implored.

Harry felt the hope in his heart snuffed out as quickly as it had appeared. Malcolm knew. People on the Grid knew. There was no way he could win her back now.

* * *

 _December 1993_

Ruth was practically skipping on her way to Harry's flat that afternoon. She didn't, of course, because not only would it unduly highlight her relative youth but in the snow, her lack of coordination would probably lead her to fracture her knee like Harry had his, and then where would they be? She laughed to herself, so excited to see him. It had been two whole weeks, but now that her exams were through, she could celebrate Christmas with him for three whole days before she was due on the train to go see her mother.

She shifted her carryall on her shoulder, filled with the bare essentials for her weekend with him—she assumed she wouldn't need clothes most of the time, since she planned on spending three whole days in his bed. But in her bag as well was the Christmas present she'd agonized over getting for Harry.

They hadn't discussed gifts at all, but she knew she wanted to get him something. And she didn't just want it to be a tie or a jumper or something he could have gotten from anyone. Within four days of her self-imposed seclusion from him, Ruth realized that she was quite madly in love with Professor James Harry Richardson, and it being Christmas and all, that seemed the proper time to tell him.

This thought in and of itself caused her great distress. After all, she was only twenty-three. And he was forty. And he was her professor. And they'd been shagging for two months. Perhaps she was just naïve, just attracted to his power and experience and authority, just lost her senses from really good sex. Perhaps it was all of that. But Ruth felt in her heart of hearts that this was different. Harry really, truly cared for her. He'd wanted to spend his birthday with her. He'd never been anything but kind and respectful to her about everything. Surely her declaration of love would be met with that same sort of affection?

But Ruth also knew that she was a bloody coward. She couldn't just tell Harry that she loved him. That was far too direct and far too terrifying. And so, after contemplating it for a week, Ruth had scrounged up every penny she could manage and spent far too much money on a Christmas gift for Harry, one that would tell him how she felt.

She trudged up the stairs to his flat and knocked on the door, heart pounding with anticipation, aching to fall into his arms and feel the warm passion of his kiss once again.

There was no answer.

She knocked once more, calling out his name.

No answer.

Confused, Ruth tried the door. It was unlocked. She walked inside the familiar flat and found it looking shockingly unfamiliar. Everything was gone. All the furniture, rugs, television, everything. Gone.

Harry was gone.

* * *

 _December 2003_

Ruth walked quickly and anxiously to Harry's house that afternoon. She hadn't been there in a number of weeks. But she'd woken up feeling terrible that morning, as she did each year on December twentieth. It had been so long, she barely remembered why in past years. This year was different. So incredibly different. For the first time, she could actually make December twentieth be different. And with that sense of purpose drumming in her heart, she made her way across London to Harry's on that cold, sunny Saturday.

She rang the bell and stamped her feet to keep the cold away. She'd not thought through what she was wearing, and her clothing left her woefully unprepared for the chilly temperature. Her breath fogged up in front of her as she waited at the front door.

Finally, he answered. For the first time on December twentieth. That realization made her heart skip.

"Ruth? Come in, you'll freeze!" He beckoned her inside and helped her with her coat. "What's that you've got?" he asked, seeing the bag she was carrying.

She told herself to be brave, to remember what this day had once meant to her, to remember her ardent desire to make it different this time. "I've got a Christmas present for you," she replied simply, carrying the bag into Harry's living room.

He followed her, not saying a word. He was probably far too shocked to see her in his home after having received the silent treatment from her to have any sort of response. "It isn't Christmas yet," he pointed out.

They took their seats on the sofa, side by side but a respectful distance apart. Scarlett trotted by and put her paws up on Ruth's knees. With a fond smile, Ruth scratched the little dog behind the ears and was rewarded with a few affectionate licks to her hand.

Harry redirected her attention. "I don't have anything for you. I didn't think we'd be exchanging gifts, since…"

"Well, I didn't buy this one recently," she said quickly. She pulled out a small box wrapped in old red paper and tied with a rather sorry-looking green ribbon. "I planned on giving this to you exactly ten years ago today. And I never got to." Her heart was thundering in her throat. How she'd ever get through this, she wasn't sure. But if any part of herself from ten years ago still lived inside her, that reckless girl who got drunk on cider and kissed her teacher, she needed to summon that courage now.

"Oh Ruth," Harry said sadly. He knew precisely why she hadn't gotten to give him this gift all those years ago. "I couldn't tell you, I'm so sorry. With that injury to my knee, the operation was cut short and I was summoned back. My field career ended and I was promoted to Section Head."

She blinked back tears, not wanting to cry. "I spent weeks searching for you. I asked the department head, I asked the faculty manager, I asked everyone at the university I could get ahold of if you'd left a forwarding address. I wanted so much to have been right about you, that you cared about me, that you wouldn't just disappear. But you did disappear. I came to your flat to give you a Christmas present and the entire place was empty. You and everything in it were gone without a trace."

"I am sorry. But you know I couldn't…"

Ruth cut him off again. "I know that now, yes. As soon as I met you my first day on the Grid, it all made sense. You were undercover. You returned to London. You're a spook and you were doing a job. I understand all that now." She ran a shaky hand through her hair, her eyes fixated on the frayed green ribbon and the faded red paper. "But for ten years, December twentieth was the day I would take this box out of whatever cupboard I'd had it hidden in. And I would stare at it. Because in so many ways, this was the only real, tangible thing I had to prove you ever existed. I spent all my money on a Christmas present I never got to give you." Ruth handed him the box. "And now, I finally can. Because I know I still want to give this to you. After everything, I want you to have this, Harry," she finished, watching him expectantly.

Harry stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to do. Slowly, he untied the ribbon and ripped the paper. The small box was revealed, and he opened it. Inside was a beautiful silver watch. "It's lovely, Ruth, thank you."

Her lips twitched into a nervous smile. "It's engraved," she informed him.

He took the watch out of the box and turned it over to read aloud what was inscribed. "Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori."

"It's from Virgil. Do you need me to give you the English?"

"Yes, I'm afraid my Latin tenses are a bit fuzzy," he replied. His voice shook. He clearly understood a fair bit if he was as nervous as she was.

She translated, "Love conquers all things; let us yield to love." Her face blushed bright pink as she explained, "I chose it then because I wanted to tell you how I felt. And I still do feel that way, Harry." Her confession loomed heavy in the air, so she continued. "I understand that quote so much better now. I know that I might never know everything about you, Harry. But I also know that we have a lot of time to learn about each other. And if I just…if I could just yield to love, then love can conquer all things. Our love can. I just have to have faith in that. And I do."

When Ruth finally looked up, she saw Harry staring at her, his eyes dark with some kind of longing that she didn't quite recognize. And before she realized it, he had let the watch fall onto his lap and captured her face in his hands, kissing her hungrily. Ruth gasped in surprise but let out a low moan of desire. It had been far too long since he'd kissed her like this, far too long since she'd tasted the warm passion on his tongue.

After a moment, he pulled back, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs and gazing at her with the most brilliant expression in his honey-hazel eyes. "I love you, Ruth. I have loved you since the moment you walked into that café, hungover and apologizing for kissing me. And I have loved you every single day since, against my better judgement. And I want nothing more than to yield to love with you, to allow our love to conquer every single one of our fears and doubts."

Ruth began to laugh, so full of so many emotions that it had to tumble out of her somehow. "I love you, Harry," she professed, leaning in to kiss him again.

They fell back onto the sofa, nestled in each other's arms, kissing and caressing each other. Harry put on the watch and admired it, causing Ruth to grin and press loving kisses to the hollow of his throat. She sighed happily. December twentieth had become her favorite day of the year.

 **THE END**


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